The Finch and The Jackdaw
by ChocolateCannibal
Summary: Captain Edward Kenway was not in the habit of following strange women for no good reason. For her, he made an exception.
1. Poxy Birds

He was fucking sick of it. The monologues about a new world order, a better future, pleading that he "see the light" before resorting to venomous insults. Templar bastards were all the same.

His current victim was at the insulting stage.

"Not that vermin like you would ever-"

"Enough, man! Tell me what you know, damnit," Edward growled, pressing closer.

He tightened his hand around the smaller man's throat, unsheathed his hidden blade and held it to the Templar's cheek.

It was an empty threat. The man was already bleeding out from the wound in his stomach, though he couldn't feel it through the shock.

"I- please! I'll tell you. There's a man called The Pigeon. I only met him once-"

Hesitation. Was conviction infecting his cowardice?

Edward wasn't having that.

"Tell me!" He roared.

"They say he's- That he's- He is…" The Templar trailed off, eyes fluttering closed.

"What?" Edward almost pleaded, shaking him, but the man was already gone.

Bloody hell. He was so fucking close.

The assassin let out a string of quiet curses. Echoes of his own words rang in his ears as he searched the corpse for valuables.

"I'm getting close, man."

"We're close."

"Hang in there. It's close."

"I'm close. I can feel it."

Always close, but never _there_.

Captain Kenway extracted a letter and a coin purse.

"And what the hell kind of man is named after a poxy bird?" He mused. Remembered something similar said long ago about his Jackdaw, and chuckled bitterly. Perhaps a man after his own heart, then.

In the letter –written entirely in French- he could make out the name of a tavern in a nearby pirate town where this "Pigeon" could be found.

He was getting close.

* * *

The target was supposed to be in the tavern. The mission was simple: tail, interrogate, kill.

Edward Kenway kept to the shadows, sipped some rum, watched and listened.

"-yes, a ghost, I tell you. Saw it with me own two-"

Obviously a senile old bastard.

"-a sugar plantation up north. Could you give me directions?"

Letter courier.

"-price of rum won't be affected, although-"

Merchant. Irrelevant. Boring.

"Not interested."

The last one caught his attention. Just two words, but with an accent he didn't recognize, because they were almost completely _un_accented.

She had thick black hair that reached to her hips in ripples and large black eyes hooded with drunken apathy. Her skin glowed dark gold in the light, faded to an odd, almost greenish brown in the shadows. A strange color, but stranger still, it seemed completely unmarked. No dirt, scars or tattoos- not a single speck, line or dot.

The girl's gaze landed on him.

She gave him a thorough once-over. He quirked a brow, returned the gesture, noticed she was quite tall, slender with wide hips, a narrow waist, and small breasts- a pity, but on the whole...

She downed the rest of her drink, gave him a sharp, lingering look, then abruptly left.

Did she know him? Did she want him to follow? What for?

Captain Kenway was not in the habit of following strange women for no good reason.

Call it curiosity. Recklessness. Boredom.

Whatever it was, he decided he could spare a moment.

* * *

She had her back turned and arms crossed when he found her. Spun around violently, eyes blazing when he greeted her.

"What the _fuck_ took you so long?"

What? Was he missing something?

He gave a startled laugh, began a sentence, and was cut off.

"Alright. Let's skip this and get to the good part. I don't have all night."

Before he had a chance to ask what "part" she referred to or why the bloody hurry, he found himself shoved against the wall and with a pair of soft, warm lips pressed to his. Edward returned the kiss without thinking, realized belatedly what she meant by "the good part."

As he let her hands roam her body, something nagged in the back of his mind.

He pulled back abruptly.

"Oh, bugger. The Pigeon."

"What?"

"The- Listen lass, I should- "

Oh, fuck it. The Templar bastard wasn't going anywhere soon. This girl, on the other hand, seemed ready to explode.

"Yes?" She practically snapped, rocking back on her heels to level an acerbic glare.

"Never mind."

He pulled her close again, but found a soft hand covering his mouth instead.

"You're not a eunuch, are you?"

"A- what?"

"A eunuch. You know, with the-"

"No I'm not a _fucking_ eunuch."

"I'm not sure I believe you," she taunted, then made as if to walk away.

The assassin should have let her go. He should have returned to the mission. Shouldn't have been distracted by, kissing, touching a stranger for whom he didn't even have a name.

Should, this. Should, that.

He was sick of it. Needed a bloody break.

Edward grabbed the girl roughly by the wrist, pulled, and pinned her to the wall.

The mission would wait.

"You'll eat those words, wench," he murmured darkly.

She gave him another look of mock-incredulity, unphased by his tone.

"Big talk coming from a man with no- _mmph_."

The last word was muffled by his mouth pressed firmly to hers.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night.


	2. Impatience

It was no secret that women threw themselves at Captain Edward Kenway.

He had a way about him they found irresistible. Still, no one ever _threw_ themselves at him as impatiently or enthusiastically as _she_ did.

He'd never met a woman as unabashed, self-absorbed or vocal when it came to her own pleasure.

Edward found it incredibly refreshing, fascinating, (and yes) _arousing_. When she finally exhausted herself, the girl collapsed atop him and promptly fell asleep. That _he_ wasn't done didn't seem to matter one bit.

He gave a half-frustrated, half-bemused chuckle, made to move her off him and leave, then thought better of it.

The Templar contact, tracking down Rodgers, finding the missing blood phials- so much to do once he left, and none of it remotely pleasant.

He decided he could spare a few more hours. What was one night to a centuries old war, after all?

Edward felt her wake and (sarcastically) asked if she slept well. The girl responded with a confused noise, bleary glare, and an unhappy "_Fuck_ me."

Captain Kenway tried not to take it personally, instead informed her that he did.

Fuck her, that is.

This earned another glare.

"Three times, was it?"

The girl muttered something that sounded like "five."

That couldn't be right.

"Really?"

No answer.

She was already dressed, pulling that ridiculously long hair up, and flitting about the room, searching for something.

He watched her lazily, noticed how deliberately she moved, how carefully she held herself. If he didn't know better, he would have- But he knew better. There was no reason for someone like _that_ to be in a place like _this_.

Edward Kenway also realized she wasn't just _pretty_ as he first thought, but absolutely stunning, with bow-shaped lips that could-

The girl asked him a question, cutting off that obscene thought.

"What's the bloody hurry?" He said instead of answering.

She regarded him with her clear, sharp eyes. Bit her lip, as if reconsidering, before telling him she was married.

"_What_?"

God _fucking_ damn it. There was always a catch.

She rolled her eyes, said, "Joking. I need my hat."

Just like the night before, he was caught halfway between being amused and _thoroughly_ pissed off. Still, found himself smiling. That girl- he ought to think of her as something other than that girl, and call her something other than "lass."

"Name's Edward Kenway," he opted to omit the 'captain' part, "What's yours, lass?"

She shot him another incredulous look, spotted something by the door –her precious hat- and picked it up.

"Neha. Just Neha."

Before he had a chance to ask if that was the custom in whatever strange land she hailed from, to have only one name, or _what_ strange land she came from, Neha was gone.

Edward Kenway heaved a frustrated sigh.

Just last night, the wench was hellbent on getting him to bed. Then, she seemed just as hellbent on getting away as soon as possible.

Well, what's done was done, and it was good while it lasted.

He had a bird to catch.


	3. The Hat

Freedom.

Across the ocean in an untamed world filled with vagrants and drunks, she found it.

The freedom to eat, drink, smoke and fuck as she never could have back home.

She could finally live life as she desired, without rules or pretense, no need to slow down for anyone or anything.

Some nights, she kept her hair tucked away, wore enough layers that no one would think her a woman, and slunk in the shadows- those days she didn't get the violent urge to, well, fulfill her violent urges.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

Neha undid her braid and the top few buttons of her shirt. Sat at the bar, drank until she felt bold enough to leer back at the men who leered at her, then drank some more.

They regarded her with a lustful curiosity. Lust because they were drunk and she was far from ugly. Curiosity because in a land of strangers, she was the stranger.

"What's a fine lass like you doing in a-"

Short. Bald. Completely unoriginal.

"Not interested," she interjected.

At least he didn't persist.

The ones she caught staring either averted their gaze (cowards) or flashed oily grins that revealed an off-putting lack of teeth.

Then, there was one. He had all his hair- thick, silky, the color of straw. Seemed to have all his teeth as well. Light gold skin with black lines hinting at the art under his clothes. The man was tall, well-built, and if not for the scars, she'd call him pretty.

He met her gaze head on, gave her a thorough one-over and quirked a brow. A challenge, lighting fire under her skin.

It was his eyes that did it. Normally, blue irises were too pale and dull for her tastes, but _his_ eyes (at the risk of sounding poetic) burned brightly like twin suns. Avarice for fame, riches, _life_. He might have a few stories to share after a good fuck, not that she ever lingered that long.

She threw back the rest of the rum, slammed down the empty tankard, gave him a meaningful look, and left.

* * *

It'd only been seconds. Still, Neha had to fight the urge to fidget or, worse, go back there and drag the bastard out by the ear.

She thought she was plenty clear about her invitation and intention, but there were some-

"Hello lass," said a rough voice in her ear.

She whipped around and found herself looking up at a pair of sparkling black-lined eyes.

"What the _fuck_ took you so long?"

He parted his lips to answer. She saw that he had most, if not all his teeth.

The man laughed. That voice- rough, pleasant, interestingly accented, made her burn even more.

"Yes. And you appear to be-"

God. Witty banter. She didn't have the patience, nor her wits.

"Alright, let's skip this and get to the good part. I don't have all night."

Well, she did, but she was done waiting.

She didn't even wait the second it would have taken him to understand.

Instead, she pushed him against the wall, felt the firmness of his chest under her hands, stood on her toes to kiss his scarred lips, tasted sweet bitterness and heat, ran her fingers through the smooth silk of his hair. It took him a fraction of a moment longer than she liked to find her neck, spine, waist, hips, those large, strong hands.

Well, better late than never.

* * *

Birds chirping. Warmth that turned the inside of her eyelids red. The murmur of crowds in the distance.

Morning? Not yet. Not possible.

There was something hot and moist stuck to the side of her face. Something…

She pried open her eyes, heard a familiar voice say "Slept well, aye?"

She pried her head off the sticky thing –his chest- and looked down at the man under her. Saw that his scars looked more brutal up close and in the light, realized that for the first time in a long –well- _ever_, she fell asleep instead of sneaking off in the night.

"Oh, _fuck_ me," she groaned. This was simply unacceptable.

"I believe I did."

The girl shot him a look, slid off the bed and began getting dressed.

"Three times, was it?"

"Five for me," she muttered absently. Didn't think he heard.

"Really?"

Oh. Maybe he did.

All her clothes on in record time, Neha twisted her hair away from her face and searched the room for the last item.

"Have you seen my hat?"

"What's the bloody hurry?"

She paused to look at him again. Admired the broad shoulders, intricate tattoos, strong arms. Moved her gaze up to his face, saw that he was much more handsome than she first thought, in the rugged, effortless way of a vagrant. Looked into his pale, bright eyes and thought that she wouldn't mind staying for another round (or three).

But- no. A woman ought to stick to her code.

"My husband's waiting for me," she lied.

"_What_?" He practically shouted.

It never ceased to amaze her how outraged violent, lawless criminals could get over a little adultery.

"Joking. I need my hat."

It took him a moment to comprehend. He rolled onto his stomach, exposing the ink on his well-muscled back, gave her a bemused smirk that sorely tempted her to rethink-

"Name's Edward Kenway," he interrupted her thoughts.

It sounded familiar, though she couldn't place it.

"What's yours, lass?"

There was no point. He was never going to see her again, but…

"Neha-" she found her hat tossed carelessly by the door and before he could ask for her last name, added "-Just Neha."

She turned the hat over, saw that it was all there, put it on her head, and left without another word.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter is already written. With enough reader interest, it might be up early, so let me know.


	4. Anne

The Pigeon, despite his ridiculous moniker, proved to be a master of evasion.

Edward interrogated Templars, bribed innkeepers, and visited tavern after tavern trying to find trying to find the accursed man.

Nothing. Not a whisper, not a single word of worth.

It took exactly three days for the trail to go completely cold.

Weeks later, the assassin was perched on the roof of a church, bottle of rum in hand, trying to puzzle out what he missed.

Baudin, the Templar who gave him the information, might have lied. Highly unlikely. Dying men had a tendency to speak the truth. Was the man delusional from blood loss, then? Mixing up words? Perhaps he meant to say "Peter" instead of "Pigeon," or something of the sort.

Captain Kenway took another swig.

It was possible, but his instincts told him this _Pigeon_ was quite real, if maddeningly illusive.

This was a waste of time. He would be better off on other islands with a more prominent Templar influence, or out at sea, plundering and making a dent in the king's royal navy. He that meeting with Anne later about some new information- something that "May turn the tide in this war," according to her letter.

That was important, but just then…

Edward raked his hands through his hair, squeezed his eyes shut, as if The Pigeon could be found in the darkness behind his eyelids. Through the hum of the crowd below, a child's voice caught his attention.

"Good lady, can you spare some coin?" The young beggar pleaded in a sickly-sweet voice.

As if anyone on this side of the world was stupid enough to fall for _that_ trick.

"I- of course. Here you are," Said a woman's voice.

He gave a disbelieving chuckle.

Apparently there was. No one from around here, judging from the accent. Rather, the lack of one- It couldn't be.

Edward pried his eyes open, sprung to his feet, spotted her just in time to witness the robbery. By the time he dropped down from the roof and reached her, both children were long gone. "Are you stupid or just on the wrong side of the world, lass?"

Neha froze for a moment, turned around reluctantly, and looked thoroughly displeased when she saw him.

Captain Kenway, once again, tried not to take it personally.

"What do you mean?"

She couldn't be serious.

"You've been robbed."

Neha patted her trousers, reached the empty place her coin purse once was, and sighed.

"So I have," She remarked wryly.

No anger, not outrage, not even a touch of exasperation.

The fact that she seemed happier about losing her gold than seeing the good captain may have stung a little.

He cocked his head and quirked a brow. "You're not going after them?"

She bit her lip –oh, he almost forgot those lips- moved her gaze skyward to contemplate, then shrugged.

"They need it more than I do," looked back to him, playing with the tip of her braid, "And what brings you here? Not following me, are you?"

Oh, she couldn't _possibly_ be serious.

"Work," he opted to ignore the bait, "Very important work. And you?"

"The same. Buy me a drink?"

Why someone who held such disdain for his company would want to have drinks- Still, Edward decided he wouldn't mind a repeat of that night. She walked ahead without waiting for an answer. He realized it was a demand, not a request, contemplated refusing out of spite, but found himself walking forward without thinking.

He admired the sway of her hips, swish of her long braid, then-

Cold. Bright. _Wet_.

"Wake up, you lily-livered bilge swiller!"

All at once, sunlight, noise, and ice-cold slop water ripped Captain Kenway from his dead sleep.

"What the-" He began, then found himself gargling wet filth as another douse hit him in the face "- Blast, I'm awake!"

"Oh, are you now? Well, what a big _fucking_ relief!" The woman bellowed.

The woman- He squinted up at her, holding a hand above his head to block out the blinding sun. She had bright red hair lined with pink flowers, and an expression that could shrivel the balls off of lesser men.

"Anne? What are you- _Oh_."

Bugger. The meeting.

"Oh. _Oh_! That's all you got to say for yourself? I thought you was captured, or hurt, or _dead_!" Her voice grew higher with each word until it cracked with hysteria.

Edward almost didn't see her hurl the bucket at his head as wiped the water out of his eyes.

He ducked just in time. "Damnit woman! I'm sorry, alright?"

"You're sorry," she repeated, infuriated and incredulous.

Anne Bonny clearly wanted an explanation, an acceptable excuse. Captain Kenway had none. He spent the previous night getting black-out drunk with-

That girl. The last thing he remembered.

He rose to his feet a little too quickly, swayed unsteadily and clutched his throbbing head. "Neha."

Anne tilted her head and crossed her arms. "What?"

It occurred to Edward that the red head would not take kindly to being neglected for another woman. Not that she had feelings for him, mind- she made _that_ abundantly clear.

He scratched the back of his neck and avoided her gaze. "I had a few drinks-" This was putting it lightly. The amount of liquor it took to knock a _pirate_ out, and Captain Kenway at that "-Aye, more than a few drinks. Can't remember anything past sunset."

That was about the time he saw her, so it wasn't a _total_ lie. From the look on her face and quirk of her brow, Anne knew he was withholding, but didn't press it.

The woman gave him a disgusted once-over, rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated huff. "I shouldn't be surprised. Well, what's done is done."

She sauntered away as Edward attempted to gather himself. Paused, hands on her hips, and looked back impatiently. "Come along, then. Let's find a quiet place to talk."

_Something that could turn the tide in this war._

* * *

A/N: So there are like fifty people who read all three chapters, but only one person who commented (which btw thanks)... I guess it's hard to think of something to say, so how about instead of a review, you guys can leave guesses on where you think Neha is from and/or where you want her to be from? (I'm really curious to know)

It's really confusing and a little discouraging to have so many silent readers, so please.

Also, anyone catch the Pirates of the Caribbean reference? (Hint: think Mr. Gibbs)

Next one should be up next Sunday


	5. Three Bottles

She had no intention of repeating that night. Neha had a code, and she stuck to it for good reason. What that reason was, exactly, was becoming harder and harder to remember as she watched the man beside her. Her dark pupils flitted from the scars on his cheek to the kink at the bridge of his nose, up to his pale eyes, down to his lips, and back to his cheek, where they lingered.

He finally snapped, "Damn it girl, didn't your mum tell you it's rude to stare?"

Neha quirked a brow, gave him a bemused look, and turned her gaze to the scene in the tavern.

A drunken brawl with bystanders taking bets. A one-eyed man shoving his face into a whore's half-exposed breasts. A gambler letting out a cry of despair at losing the last of his gold. Laughter, shouting, merriment and debauchery.

She didn't end up in a place like this listening to her acursed mother, and neither did he.

The scene in front of her was interesting enough. Still, Neha couldn't keep her gaze from drifting to Kenway's scars. Could guess at some of it, but too much was left to the imagination.

"You're a criminal, aren't you?"

The Englishman regarded her through the corner of his eye. "Depends on who you-" Stopped, shook his head and chuckled "-Aye. I'm a criminal."

Neha took a sip of rum to hide her smile, then pressed. "What sort?"

Kenway tilted his head and examined the contents of his tankard before turning to her. "Not sure what you mean."

"What I mean- What sort of crimes did you commit? What laws did you break? Is there a price on your head? How much? Who is-" she cut off abruptly, realizing he might take it the wrong way "-I mean- I'm not going to turn you in or try to capture you or- I'm just curious." She finished lamely, then took another long swig to hide her embarrassment.

The man seemed more amused than concerned. "As if a wee thing like you could do anything to me."

She rolled her eyes at his arrogance. Typical _man_- calling her "wee" when she couldn't be more than two inches shorter.

"And why should I answer your questions when you've been so dodgy about mine?"

"I haven't been-" Neha stopped as soon as she realized it was a blatant lie.

A few drinks ago, when Kenway asked her where she was from, she said "far away." When he inquired about her work, she replied, "the sort that you do for money." When he wondered at her lack of a second name she answered, "I make do with just the one."

"Fine. Why don't we make a game of it, then. A drinking game."

He gave her a deliberate, condescending once-over. "Think _you_ can out-drink a man, and a pir-_criminal_ at that?"

"So you'll play-" She didn't wait for him to confirm "-Alright. Every time I guess something about you correctly, take a drink."

She said nothing about taking a drink if he guessed correctly about her. He would assume the game went both ways. Being a man of his word, Kenway would play. Being a woman of hers, Neha was doing no such thing.

"Fair enough, lass. You go first."

Three full bottles of rum later, Neha found Edward Kenway was a habitual trespasser, vandal, arsonist, thief, smuggler, and certified killer. The blood of more than ten, twenty, _fifty_ men were on his hands. When she pressed him for an exact number, Kenway flashed a wicked grin and told her it was about the same as the number of whores he fucked, and that he lost count of both figures years ago.

She should have been disgusted, outraged, terrified, but only felt the flames of her curiosity burn brighter and more insistently.

Eventually, the man was so drunk that he forgot the game. He became more generous with his answers and Neha grew bolder with her questions.

She leaned closer, eyes alight with fascination. "What's it like?"

Kenway swayed and nearly fell over despite leaning on a wall. Steadied himself with a hand on her small shoulder, leaned closer and slurred, "What?"

Neha sunk a little under his weight, but maintain her posture. "Killing. What does it feel like?"

The Englishman let out a sharp, bitter laugh. His drink shook in his hand, spilling a few drops on the filthy floor.

"And why in devil's name do'ya want to know, girl? Not planning any muh-mur-_murders_ yourself, I-" hiccup "-hope."

"No. Just curious."

"You're an odd one. Never met a lass like you- Well, maybe Kidd." Despite being completely shitfaced, Kenway suddenly sobered.

"Kidd?" He had a kid?

"Aye, Kidd. I should say Read. Didn't fuck _her_, though." He had a good chuckle at that. "On second thought, that's not a good com-compar-_comparishon_."

Neha was initially very relived that Kenway didn't fuck his kid, then realized "Kidd" was one of those odd European names that sounded like a noun.

He proceeded to list the names of all his dead friends, talking about death and dying but not what it felt like it kill. Neha was no less intrigued. She had just as much experience with death as she did with murder. That is to say, none. Though he had his hand on her shoulder, Kenway seemed to have forgotten her, lost in the memory of all his dearly departed comrades. Neither noticed the crowd in the tavern thin until they were the last of a handful remaining.

"And before all that, there wash-" hiccup "-Cah-Caroline." His slurring and stuttering worsened, and the weight on her shoulder grew.

"Is she dead too?"

"Aye."

"Who was she?"

"My wife. I love-loved her, or thought I did. Ever been in love, girl?"

Well, she owed him at least one answer. Doubted he would remember come morning, anyway. Neha met his glassy blue eyes and bit her lip briefly before answering. "Almost. Once."

A sly smile tugged at the corner of Kenway's lips. He shifted, suddenly not as unsteady, eyes bright and burning and once again pinned her to the wall between his arms.

"Would you like to be?" he murmured, eyeing her mouth.

Neha leaned forward without thinking, closed the gap between their lips, then pulled back abruptly.

"Do you-" she removed his hand from her breast "-Have a code, Kenway?"

He was only briefly put out. Took the hint reluctantly, regarded her with drunken confusion, and stepped –well, staggered- back.

"Aye, I have a-" hiccup "-code. Well, it's more of-of a _creed_. Is that why you-" he couldn't find the right word, instead mimed pushing someone away "-are doing that?"

Neha smiled mirthlessly. She had to keep to her code. "Never fuck the same man twice-" And about a dozen other rules she wasn't inclined to share "-yours?"

Edward Kenway grinned widely, holding out his arms as if to embrace the world. "Everything is true-" hiccupped, swayed, braced himself on a nearby table "-and nothing is permitted." Paused, blinked rapidly and shook his head, "No, that's not right. Wash I mean ish- ish-"

He swayed once, twice, then promptly fell backwards, unconscious.

Neha raised both her eyebrows, thoroughly amused, before stepping over his prone form and informing the innkeeper. "That man's passed out and I can't carry him."

The innkeeper, who was wiping the inside of a tankard with an old cloth, peered over her shoulder at the man's body, grumbled, and informed her that he would be dragged out to the barn, seeing as he didn't pay for a room.

Neha nodded, couldn't help the cruel giggle that bubbled past her lips, and decided she ought to get moving. Habitually checked the inside of her hat to ensure it was all still there before replacing it on her head. It was only hours till dawn.

* * *

A/N: A few notes on this slight AU **[major AC4 spoilers!]** Edward Joined the assassins right away instead of returning to Europe or "waiting for his blood to cool" and in the letter he receives from Ah Tabai, he finds out about Caroline's death, but there's no mention of a daughter. This could mean that he never impregnated his wife before he left, or that he did, but Caroline's parents decided to keep the girl. That's up for you to decide (because I really don't know).

**[End spoilers]**

Also, I know Edward's Welsh, but Neha doesn't, so she kind of thinks of him as the "Englishman." Running fandom joke that cracks me up.

I have the next three to four chapters written already (4000+ words because Edward Kenway has ruined my life). Depending on feedback, I'll post one to three more by Sunday so... You know what to do.


	6. A Trinket

There was one thing Neha did better than anyone on this side of the world. It was the reason she survived in these vagrant-infested parts without resorting to whoring- well, whoring for pay- or other disreputable activities.

She could run.

Hard, fast, for hours on end without tiring, on a good day.

The rhythm of her feet pounding in her ears, sun on her skin, wind in her face, distant birdsong and even more distant static of waves- there was nothing like it. Well, maybe sex- no, not even that. When Neha ran, she flew, freer any sparrow or seagull. When she ran, the restlessness, perpetual impatience, the maddening hum of her racing thoughts all faded, leaving her free to _think_.

Just then, she was lost in the memory of that day.

Back in Singapore, she was lounging on the roadside of a busy market, admiring the colorful booths and sparkling wares of local merchants. People of every size, shape, and color, brought together by their love for gold and other pretty things. The hum of conversation in a myriad of languages, each of which she could half-comprehend, saturated the air.

There was one man bartering loudly with a shoemaker for a pair of wooden sandals. He had skin the color of wet earth, a full black moustache, and the hearty stoutness of someone well-off and well-fed. There were many like him in the ports, but this man seemed familiar. She thought-

His khol-lined eyes landed on her, narrowed incredulously, then widened with recognition.

"Neha!" He called out.

She looked around, hoping he was addressing someone else. Then it hit her- the man- familiar- a friend of her fathers. No. Worse, the father of- Oh, _fuck_!

"_Neha, your father is looking for you_," he called in their native language. She turned and walked away, hoped he would let her be, then heard him bark, "_It's her! After the girl, men. We must bring her back_!"

It might have been more prudent to walk calmly, blend into the crowd, and fade to obscurity. She tried to keep an even pace, but sped up to a trot, jog, stride. Checked over her shoulder, saw the men gaining, broke into a mad sprint.

She lost them all in minutes. Ducked into an alleyway, panting lightly. Thought she was safe when another man stepped in front of her.

Neha looked to one side, then another. It was a dead end, and the stranger was standing in front of only the way out.

"You, boy, who are you running from?"

So her disguise _did_ work- on strangers, at least. Plenty good it was doing now. She decided to keep her silence, lest her voice betray the truth of her identity.

Neha examined the man from under her hat. He had pink skin, white hair, a pointed hook nose, wore a red uniform and gilded sword upon his hip.

No use fighting, then.

His watery eyes narrowed. "Do you speak English?"

She nodded without thinking, then winced at her own idiocy. It would have been smarter to play dumb.

"Can you talk?"

She lowered her gaze to his polished black boots and slowly shook her head. Better he thought her a mute than learned she was a woman.

His cold eyes landed on her neck. Neha winced again. Prayed he wouldn't look lower. She knew her breasts were small but if one checked closely- he didn't, thankfully, and instead examined her wrists. Searching for a brand, she realized.

"Do you have a master?"

'Was she a slave?' was the underlying question. She wasn't. In fact, until recently, Neha enjoyed freedom and comfort that girls -especially those of her complexion- were often deprived of.

She met the man's steely gaze unflinchingly, trying to keep anger from her expression, and shook her head.

The man's hand, which was resting on the hilt of the sword, moved up to his chin as contemplated something. Skeptically, "Can you read, then?"

She could, but he didn't need to know, so she shook her head.

A scheming smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"What do you say to some work, boy? You'll be rewarded handsomely."

Cornered in a dark ally by a man with wealth, power, and a sword, Neha didn't see what choice she had. She prayed to whatever gods may be watching that this wasn't some ploy to make her a slave, then nodded reluctantly.

The man kept his word. She later understood why- who better to entrust your secrets than an illiterate mute? An illiterate mute who could outrun damn near anyone, of course.

Neha was never tempted to open a letter or parcel. He could keep his secrets, and she would keep hers. That man- the snake, the bigot who likely saw nothing wrong with enslaving a fellow human being- That odious _bastard_ gave her the key to her freedom. Steady work, decent pay, a reason to run and the means to travel the whole wide world.

Glowing in the pale light of the sunrise, perched a high hill in a clearing above the tropical jungle, was a plantation building.

Neha checked her hat to make sure nothing fell out, hid her hair under it, and ran faster.

* * *

Edward Kenway examined the yellow parchment, turning it this way and that, holding it up to the light and squinting. Looked from the drawing to the woman across from him, to the paper, then back to her. Astutely, he observed, "It's a necklace."

Anne sat back, folding her arms and wearing a self-satisfied expression. "Aye, even better: it's a _drawing_ of a necklace."

"Jaysus woman, have you finally lost it? How's a stinking piece of jewelry supposed to-"

"It's a key, Edward."

"A key to what?"

"A door."

"A door." He was confounded by her vagueness.

"A door," she confirmed.

"A door," he repeated, hoping for elaboration.

"Aye, a door," she affirmed again with a knowing smile.

Oh, for _fucks_ sake.

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose then, with forced composure, asked, "A door to _what_, Anne?"

"My source tells me it will be en route to Singapore on the Spanish naval ship, _San Luis_. The _key_, not the door, idiot," she interjected before he could ask, "Departs Havana in two week's time. You'll find answers there."

Anne Bonny failed to explain why she was so convinced that this wee trinket could tip the scales in an epic centuries-long war, or how she came across her information. Still, when Edward showed it to Ah Tabai in Great Inagua a few days later, the man balked at the drawing and snatched it from his hand.

"Where did you get this, Englishman?" He shouted, waving the page in Edward's face.

"Anne gave it to me a few days ago. No, she didn't tell me where she got it and for the thousandth time, _I'm Welsh_."

Ah Tabai showed no sign of hearing him. Didn't correct his error, not that Edward expected him to. Instead, the assassin shoved the page closer to Edward's face and waved it more furiously. "Have you any idea what this is?"

Edward let out a long-suffering sigh. "Aye. It's a key. To a door."

Ah Tabai nodded solemnly. "It is."

Captain Kenway waited for an elaboration, and was rewarded with silence, along with a good deal of awestruck staring and vigorous parchment waving.

"So…" He pressed, trying to hide his frustration.

The Mentor folded the crumpled parchment and pushed it forcefully into Edward's hand. "Go boy, you must hurry. We need to keep this from falling into the wrong hands."

"But-"

"I said _go_!" Ah Tabai barked, shoving him in the chest and nearly knocking him over.

Edward threw his hands up in exasperation. "Alright, alright. I'm leaving. _Jaysus_."

It took him a few days to arrive in Kingston, where the Jackdaw was docked, and track down Adèwale.

Adè was wholly perplexed by the object and its significance (due to Edward's shitty, vague explanation but could anyone blame him?).

"It's a key. To a door." His quartermaster echoed blankly.

"Aye, that's all we know."

"Well, if it's important as the Mentor seems to think, we best be after it."

Edward huffed and slumped back in his seat. "Bloody waste of time, I say."

Captain Kenway was tired of this shit. Every step forward precluded three steps back; there was always one more thing and hell to pay if it wasn't accomplished. His demons drove him to spend years hunting Roberts, the observatory, and now the blood phials and Woodes Rogers and on top of all _that_, this key and of course, the Pigeon. Whatever he set out to do, he had to see it through, or be eaten alive by the feeling of being _so close_.

But he _was_ close. He could feel it. All of it was so close, and he was in too deep to turn back now.

Still, the thought of adding one more thing to the list –one more thing to drive him half-mad with frustration, to consume his every waking thought and rob him of sound sleep- made his gut churn with revulsion.

"Still put out about your bird, eh? Are you sure it's even real, Edward?"

"The _man_ is real enough, Adè. Finding him turned out to be another story." He paused, scratched his chin thoughtfully, and looked to the ceiling. "I was close, though."

"Sure." Adè crossed his arms, totally unconvinced. He heard those exact words at least a thousand times. "The crew's been getting restless, spending weeks ashore with you on a wild goose -nay– _pigeon_ chase and not a wiff of treasure to show for it."

Edward rolled his eyes. He _knew_ –didn't Adè think he _knew_- but-

"As for me, I've been doing my best to gather information, make a dent in the enemy, and done all that could be here. Let me do some real work, or find yourself a new quartermaster."

The thought of setting sail without his most trusted ally was unappealing (read: horrifying) so Captain Kenway relented.

With a defeated sigh, "Fine, have it your way. Tell the men we leave at dawn."

Adèwalè flashed Edward one of his rare smiles and raised his tankard appreciatively. "Aye, Captain. I knew you'd come around."

For the last of his living friends, Edward didn't see what choice he had.

* * *

A/N: Oh, Ade. I can never get the accent marks right. My head canon is that after AC4 and Freedom Cry, he goes back to the Jackdaw because he misses his "country" and his bro. Ade and Edward's relationship is much stronger in my head than in canon (like when Edward says "there's not a man or woman I love left standing beside me" and Ade is right there and I'm like Edward don't be an ass your bff can hear you?) anyway...

To those who commented on how odd paragraphs look: I write this in a word document, which is more narrow than the FF window, so the paragraphs look like paragraphs instead of a series of weird lines. I actually recommend you make to browser more narrow to see what I see when I write and maybe make the story flow better. (Btw I really appreciate the criticism!)

On that note, if I can spend upwards of three hours a day writing, editing and obsessing about this story and basically ruining my own life, maybe you could take a minute to point out something you like/hate about it to help me write better?


	7. Bilge Rat

Neha couldn't decide how she felt about the open ocean.

On one hand, it was freedom in its purest form- vast, empty, beautiful and dangerous. She never tired of watching it, and loved the feeling of the ship rocking under her feet.

On the other, she was confined to a small surface with nowhere to run, surrounded by men who - if they found out who or _what_ she was-

Well, she didn't dare think about it.

On top of that, Neha couldn't swim so if by some awful stroke of bad luck, the ship sank, she would die.

It was a beautiful day on the Caribbean, with crystal-clear water and a not a cloud in sight.

Also, the ship was sinking, and _she was going to fucking die_.

Neha was leaning over the railing at the stern to admire the sparkling waves. Didn't hear the shout of the crewman that stood watch, didn't notice anything amiss as everyone aboard rushed to get his gun. It wasn't until she heard (what sounded like) thunder rumble in the clear blue sky that she finally looked up…

To find that all hell broke loose.

Men were clambering desperately trying to avoid cannonballs and gunfire. A few idiots jumped overboard. Some others fell. Still more were blasted full of holes, dropping like flies, with their insides splattered on the deck gruesomely. Captain Alonzo was barking orders in rapid Spanish and gesturing wildly. He spotted a shocked, horrified Neha and waved his sword at her. _"Oy hijo! What in god's name are you doing? Yes you, the mute. Take up arms. We must defend the ship!"_ The Captain misinterpreted Neha's bewildered look for lack of comprehension, and elaborated in broken English, "Ship attack by _piratas_. You help now!"

Neha nodded, eyes wide, and ran off without the slightest intention of fighting a horde of blood-thirsty, scurvy-infested vagrants. _Fuck_ that shit. She had to keep to the code: don't fight if you can run away.

After a few minutes of running in circles, dodging bullets and panicking men, slipping on the bloody deck and tripping over corpses, Neha decided she needed a better plan than "_run away"_ on a sinking ship in the middle of the ocean. She spotted a cluster of fish barrels shielded from fire by one of the masts.

Of course. If there's nowhere to run, hide.

With great difficulty, Neha managed to lift a barrel and dump its contents overboard, then crouched inside it and closed the lid. She shut her eyes, breathed through her mouth, and waited for it to end. Felt like days, but couldn't have been more than an hour before the screaming and gunshot died. The sounds of violence were replaced by raucous cheering after a man declared his crew victorious.

Neha wondered which side won, then realized the words were spoken in English, not Spanish.

Not good. Not good at all.

She felt the rocking of the ship intensify until it was almost as if she was being lifted in the air. Heard someone say, "Wait, something's not right about this one. Let me check inside." Oh- oh _fuck_. She held out her arm against the blinding light, squinting. Saw two heads peering into her hiding place, but couldn't make out their faces.

"Oy Captain, we've got a live one!"

One of the men grabbed her roughly by the wrist and dragged her out of the barrel. Neha clutched her hat with her other hand and nearly collapsed when he let go. Her previously numb legs prickled and stung as blood rushed into them.

"Look at this scrawny bilge rat. Found 'im hiding in one of the fish barrels, I did."

The pirates had a hearty laugh at that. Various insults were directed at her as, still laughing, the vagrant tied her hands behind her back, dragged her to the other survivors, and pushed her to her knees.

Neha didn't resist. She kept her head down and prayed for her hat to stay on.

Of the dozen or so survivors, Neha recognized Captain Alonzo, the cook, the surgeon, and an officer, Ricardo, who appeared to have lost yet another finger in the fight, leaving him with only seven.

A man in a white hood paced the deck in front of them. He had two pistols strapped to his chest, two more to his back, along with a pair of swords that were still dripping with blood, leaving a trail in his wake.

Turning to her captor, "Is that the last of them?"

"Aye Captain."

"Alright men. Whatever you find is yours to keep, with the exception of this," the hooded man held out a piece of paper, with a picture Neha couldn't make out in the too-bright light, "Which you will bring directly to me." The hooded man turned to his prisoners. "As for _you_ lot, do any of you speak English?"

Silence. Neha peered at him from under her hat, trying to see his face, but couldn't make it out from the shadow of the cowl. "Of course not," he spat, "Bloody fucking _Spaniards_."

Captain Alonzo made a strangled noise of outrage. Neha rolled her eyes at his idiocy.

The hooded man chortled. "There's always one." He held the picture in front Alonzo. "Recognize this? Oh, you do. Tell me where it is."

"You hear nothing from me, _asesino_!" Alonzo spat.

"Suit yourself." The hooded man unholstered one of his many pistols. "I _was_ going to let you and your men go free-" a _click_ as he cocked the gun "-but seeing as you got your mind made up-"

"_Espere!_ Wait!" The captain hung his head in resignation. "Fine, I tell you. That one has it," he nodded to his left.

"Which one?"

"The _mudo_. The _hijo _with the –how you say- head."

"Hat?"

"Si, hat."

Neha searched the prisoners for the one matching Alonzo's description, saw no one wore a hat except the- _mudo_- mute. Her? But she didn't- She _couldn't_- The hooded man stepped in front of her.

"Do you have it? The key?"

Neha shook her head, stiffened her shoulders to keep from trembling.

The man crouched in front of her. Too close.

"Show your face, lad, and speak truth," He ordered in a low, threatening voice. Apparently, the man was ignorant of what _mudo_ meant. Neha turned away and hoped in vain he wouldn't remove her hat. To be discovered as a woman by pirates-

Gods, she if she had any proper food in her, she would have thrown up then and there.

She flinched when the man reached for her hat, felt her braid fall out of it when he took it off, and grimaced at the stunned looks her appearance garnered.

"That's a lady, that is!"

"Aye, and a pretty one too."

A murmur of approval that didn't flatter her in the least. Gods, she should have jumped overboard when she had the chance.

The hooded man cut them off in a deadly voice. "Any sod that even _thinks_ of laying a finger on her, will have his prick cut off and fed to the sharks."

Neha felt her jaw unhinge. She was predicted every horrific possibility except _that_. Mercy from murderers? Honor amongst thieves? Did such a thing exist? (Well, yes, but these were _pirates_ for fuck's sake!)

The door to the lower decks opened and closed behind her, followed by heavy footsteps and the sound of rustling parchment. "We found a lot of letters and maps in the lower quarters, but no key. Still, I reckon there be something of use here."

The hooded man stood abruptly. "There you are, Adè. Take this wench to my cabin, will you?"

Neha rolled her eyes. Of course. Well, better to be raped by one man than all of them. Better still to not be raped at all, she thought wistfully, swallowing bile.

"I- _what_?" The pirate sounded -shocked? Scandalized? Appalled? No, that couldn't be right, or he wouldn't be a fucking _pirate_- at his captain's order.

"Jaysus Adè, not for that. Just do it, will you?"

"Aye, Captain. On your feet, girl."

Neha struggled to stand, but her shaking –the shrill, piercing fear that saturated every cell of her body- made it impossible. She tried. Fell back once, nearly landed on her face the second time. If terror left room to feel anything else, she would have been humiliated. Finally, the man pulled her up by the back of her shirt and nudged her forward. She obliged, casting a longing glance at her discarded hat. The hooded man took notice, picked it up and handed it to 'Adè.'

"And let her have her hat."

* * *

He never thought he would see her again. Not that he didn't _want_ to- Edward found his thoughts about treasure, Templars, and endless list of impossible tasks interrupted by the girl. Snippets from the night of too much rum, mostly.

"Do you have a code?"

Large, clear black eyes sparkling with fascination.

"What's it like?"

Dark gold skin that seemed almost iridescent in the lamplight.

"I'm curious."

Long, slender fingers, wrapped delicately around her mug.

"Tell me more."

Such a sweet voice.

It was a nuisance, a distraction when he could afford none, the first symptoms of infatuation. Mild, but persistent, and totally pointless because the world was big and happy coincidences, exceedingly rare. It would run its course, and she would be out of his head soon enough, because they would never meet again.

So he thought.

And yet, there she was.

On a Templar vessel, hiding in a fish barrel, somehow passing herself off as a man –well, a scrawny young _boy_ at best- and apparently in possession of the thing he sought. Edward examined her expression from the shadow of his cowl. Her eyes were brimming with fear, shoulders stiff and shivering, breath sharp and ragged. She didn't recognize him, didn't even look at him, instead staring resolutely off to the side, muttering a string of barely audible curses.

"Fuck. Shit. Goddamn, just had to be pirates. Fucking hell, bunch of diseased rapists. Just my luck, used and murdered by this filthy cur. The fuck did I ever do to deserve such feculence," and on and on she went.

Neha either didn't realize Edward could hear her, or that she was voicing her thoughts aloud. When Captain Kenway informed the crew, and by proxy the girl, that she was not to be harmed, she stopped cursing and gaped in disbelief. Just then, Adè returned from the lower decks, arms brimming with books, letters and maps that would take weeks to sort through. Damn. Well, there were more important matters at hand.

"There you are, Adè. Take this wench to my cabin, will you?"

The man was so stunned, his tattoos nearly fell from his face. "I-" he opened and closed his mouth several times before blurting "-_what_?"

Oh, there was no way in _hell_ he thought- "Jaysus Adè, not for that. Just do it, will you?"

The girl looked absolutely pitiful as she tried and failed to stand. Edward almost reached out and thought better of it. Best not to look soft in front of his men, even for a girl. He nodded to Adè instead, who pulled her up and lead her away. Edward caught her looking after her hat and couldn't help the nostalgic smirk that crept to his lips.

"And let her have het hat."

He then turned to his prisoners. Could use another cook and a surgeon, but couldn't risk possible Templar allies on his ship. Besides-

"You free us," Captain Alonzo demanded, "I tell you. You let us go."

Edward Kenway didn't explicitly say anything about letting them go if the Captain gave him what he needed –information that was likely false, regardless- but was in no mood to mince words or shed more blood.

"You make a compelling point, Captain," he fought to keep a straight face, "Very well."

There was an island nearby with a stretch of jungle and small freshwater pool. Captain Kenway set the survivors adrift on a rowboat and ensured that everything of value on the San Luis was moved to the Jackdaw, before blasting and sinking it to the bottom of the ocean.

"_Mentiroso! Bastardo! Vagabundo!_ We all die for you!" The Spanish captain shouted from the rowboat. Edward shook his head at the man's idiocy. They could survive for weeks, if not months on that island –god knows _he_ did- before being found by a passing ship. He was a man of his word, and resented anyone who suggested otherwise.

Captain Kenway signaled his crew to hoist the sails, checked in with the navigator, then paced the deck, muttering to himself unhappily.

He should have known. He should have known, damn it. How could he not have known?

There was something –something he was loathe to believe, but would be daft to ignore. The first, second, third time they met, when looking for the Pigeon, meeting Anne, searching for the key- each time, he was doing something related to the Templars. Happy coincidences were exceedingly rare, but _this_ made sense. He wanted to deny it, but the evidence was overwhelming or, at the very least, too substantial to write off.

Edward was enraged, burning with betrayal, stung by disappointment. Her curiosity finally made sense. She was a bloody spy. Damn, if that wasn't a blow to his pride.

He raked his hands through his hair, paced agitatedly. The thought of leaving a mark on her face, pushing his blade through her throat- it was sick, abhorrent, _wrong_, but she was with them and he couldn't choose a stranger over his brothers, his order, his bloody _creed_. If it came to that- _Jaysus_, he hoped it wouldn't come to that but- he stopped and took a breath. No point in putting it off. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could drown the sick memory in rum.

Captain Kenway headed to his cabin.

* * *

A/N: Well, that was a long one because I realized that if this is a 50,000 word story (or longer) and I make it 1000 words per chapter, that's around 50 chapters which is... Bleh. Stupid.

Anyway, someone pointed out that a few weeks was a little long for pirates to be docked in one place, and they're right. Basically, my version of Edward (or, how I interpret his character) is so obsessive that when he gets caught up in something, he could give a shit about everything else, so he knew his crew would be miserable, and that a good number of people would leave his service, but he could give a shit. The pirates who did remain drank and whored, as pirates so love to do, and stayed either because they were too lazy to leave, or loyalty. Some of the ones he lost were replaced by men that Ade managed to recruit. (Btw thanks for pointing that out!)

Another "logical inconsistency:" how did Edward travel between islands without his Jackdaw? He "commandeered" a small merchant ship, like the one in the beginning of AC4. I didn't think that detail was too relevant to the story, but there it is, in case you were wondering. He left his ship behind because he wanted to minimize the attention his presence garnered, to be all sneaky-like, and move more quickly. He left Ade behind because someone needed to watch his ship.

Also, if Neha sleeps around so much, how come she hasn't gotten pregnant?

Well, kids, pregnancy happens less frequently than sex-ed campaigns would have you believe. There are people who spend months trying and thousands on fertility treatments, even young, healthy couples. Additionally, she's a runner. High levels of exercise and low body fat reduce chances of getting pregnant. Hell, if you work out enough, you'll stop getting your period altogether, like the olympic athletes. In addition to that, there were birth control options available, even in the 1700's. I researched, and you can look it up if you want to because I don't feel like getting into it here. Basically, Neha is a smart, cautious young woman. She takes preventative measures, and I'll leave it at that.

(Also, please don't take this as a que to have sex left and right without a condom use good judgement for god's sake)

If anyone catches anything else you don't understand, please bring it up! I spend a lot of time researching pirates and the 1700's and looking at maps and whatnot to make everything as airtight as possible, but there are things I miss or fail to explain. (But it's always clear in my head)

Uh... Sorry for the long rant (which artificially inflates the word count, which I hate doing) but I wanted to explain the things I didn't manage to work into the main story.


	8. Tricky Bastard

Neha rubbed her raw wrists and flexed her fingers when the _Adè_ man cut her loose. Opened her mouth to thank him, snapped it shut when she realized how fucking irrational that was. He had three lines running from his eyes like tears, a thick horizontal mark over his left cheek –a brand, she realized with a pang of horror, then pushed it down and reminded herself the man was a _pirate_- and three more lines running from his lip down his chin. His skin was the color of pure bronze and eyes an odd light brown, almost golden color.

The man raised a brow. Neha realized she was staring, and quickly looked away. Felt her stomach clench again, swallowed more bile and covered her mouth.

"Can I have a bucket?" She winced at the tremor in her voice.

Suspiciously, "What for?"

A particularly violent heave wracked her body. Adè held out his arms, as if that would keep vomit from spewing all over his precious captain's cabin and hastily said, "I'll get you a bucket." He returned too quickly for Neha hide or find a weapon -as if she was in any condition to fight.

"My thanks," she nodded, found her stomach suddenly calm as she hugged it to her chest.

Tense silence that lasted an eternity. Then, "What's going to happen to me?"

The pirate cast her an almost sympathetic glance. "Fear not. Our captain's a good man. If you give him what he needs, no harm will come to you."

He probably meant that to be reassuring. Neha was only slightly less terrified, and much more confused. What did he mean? That if she fucked the man a few times, he'd let her go? Or- the piece of paper that he showed to Captain Alonzo, with the thing she apparently had- but she didn't-

"And what if I, um, don't have it?"

Adè's amber eyes narrowed. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Translation: she was fucked. Neha gulped, felt the sickness return and hugged the bucket closer, slumping to the floor. Apparently, _that bridge_ was closer than she hoped because just then, the door to the cabin opened, followed by none other than the hooded man.

"There you are, Edward. Care to explain all this?" Adè gestured to Neha as 'this.'

Wait. _Edward?_ Neha looked up from the bucket. No. Not possible. It was an exceedingly common name. Besides-

"Aye, in good time. First, I'll be wanting an explanation from _her_."

The pirate pulled off his cowl. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. A handsome face, marred by scars.

Neha felt a rush of relief so intense, she almost dropped the bucket and jumped up to kiss him, then remembered her situation.

"Kenway? The fuck are you- You're a _pirate_?"

He looked down at her with an expression of absolute disgust. She suppressed a gag.

"I'll be asking the questions, _wench_. What were you doing aboard a Templar vessel?"

Weakly, "Templar? You mean Spanish?"

"No, I mean _Templar_."

She waited for an explanation, only got more silent glaring, and started to feel a headache come on. After several seconds of dead silence, "What's that?"

"Don't you fucking play dumb with me."

"I'm not-"

"Do you have the key?"

"The key to what?"

"The bloody key, Neha!" he barked, before pulling her to her feet by the front of her shirt and shoving her against the wall. His cold rough hand wrapped around her throat. She felt pressure build in her face, wracked her brain for what could _possibly_- This was- this was so _fucking_ absurd, and he had no right to kill her for speaking the truth. For being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No right. Neha gave Captain Kenway her most venomous glare. Gone was the fear, the knot in her gut, the shaking. In its place, anger. Pure, red, unreasoning rage because there was nothing she abhorred more than a man who refused to hear truth.

"Listen, you pox-faced _cur_ and listen well. I have no _fucking_ clue what you're talking about, and strangling me will not change that." His hand loosened briefly. Long enough for her to feel a second of rush of relief, which faded as quickly as the first.

"Then maybe _this_ will." Kenway flexed his free hand, unsheathing a blade attached to his wrist, and pressed it to her cheek. "I don't want hurt you." The man looked genuinely unhappy for a fraction of a second, and she almost believed him. "But I will if I have to."

The metal was cold, stinging, on the verge of drawing blood. No truth or lie in the world had the power to save her. Neha thought for a moment and decided she had only a few regrets. "Go ahead. I know nothing, but you have your mind made up."

His pale eyes narrowed, searched her face for something that wasn't there.

More angry, wordless glaring before Kenway blurted, "Pigeon."

"What?" It was impossible to convey the extent of the man's insanity to himself with one look, but Neha tried her damndest.

"Let it go, Edward. I don't think she knows," Adè advised, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Kenway stared for a few more seconds, lowered his blade and released her neck. Staggered back a few steps, then began pacing the cabin. "Damn it. Damn it. You're right. But why- why-" he paused and stabbed an accusing finger at her "-What were _you_ doing there? Why are you always- damn it!" He threw his hands up with an exasperated huff.

Neha decided to give him some sort explanation, lest the imbecile explode from confusion. "I'm a courier. I deliver things to people, alright? Nothing to kill me over," added in a mutter "you filthy _dog_. I can't believe we ever-"

"Wait, were you taking something to Singapore?"

So she _did_ have what he wanted. Should have realized it much earlier, but fear eclipsed logic.

Still, she crossed her arms and turned away. "That's confidential."

He flexed his wrist. "Is that so?"

"Yes. I was." She relented, eyeing the glinting blade disdainfully.

"What is it?"

Through gritted teeth, "I don't know."

"Do you have it?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

Neha sighed. She would be out of work for this, and possibly hunted by her sadistic employers, but realized it was irrational to die for a stupid _job_. She took off her hat and handed it to the idiot Kenway, who gave her a look of confusion. Snatched it back, felt around the inside, and removed the small envelope from its hiding place.

Kenway took it from her, handed it to Adè, and regarded her thoughtfully.

"So you deliver things, but you don't know what they are or who you work for. I- I get it. Very clever. Adè, we found him. Baudin, that tricky bastard."

She squinted at him, hoping he remembered that she was a woman and her name was not Baudin, but received no explanation. Adè opened the envelope, emptied the contents in his hand, and nodded, apparently finding what he was looking for. "You still haven't told me how you know her."

He looked up, caught the awkward glance they exchanged, and had a hearty laugh.

"You and her- that- that means- when you said you were close, my god Edward, I didn't think it would be that close!"

This conversation really got away from her. Neha looked between the two men blankly, and was rewarded with not a single word of explanation.

"Shut your gob, Adè."

"What do you plan to do with her now?"

And she _really_ didn't appreciate men talking about her as if she wasn't there.

"We can't let her go just yet. Might be some use- Not like that. For fucks sake- I mean- Can you leave us for a moment?"

"Take all the time you need."

* * *

Edward should have apologized. It wasn't her fault. She was just doing her job, ignorant of the identity of her employers. The girl didn't show any sign of recognition at hearing the word "Templar." He should have stopped then and there but-

But his pride was wounded. He hated feeling like a fool, would hate to feel it twice within the span of minutes, so he pressed. Men melted like wax candles under the heat of Edward Kenway's ire, but not her. No, _she_ turned to steel.

When one wrong word might end her, she chose to call him a "pox-faced cur". When a lie may have spared her, she maintained her truth, and still he couldn't let it go.

Edward should have apologized _profusely_, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, after another bout of tense silence, he said, "So… How are you?" As the last word left his lips, he had to suppress the urge to slap himself for sounding like such a bloody idiot.

"I'll be better once I never have to look at your ugly mug again," Neha snapped, "Care to explain what the fuck that was all about, _Captain_ Kenway?"

Edward was too relived (and embarrassed) to take offense. It would have been a damn shame to mar that pretty face, even worse if he was the one to do it.

He grinned, unable to resist stoking the fire. "It's _confidential_,"

She shot him another look, then half-demanded, "Will you let me go?"

He brought a hand up to his chin in mock-thoughtfulness. "In time, perhaps."

This enraged the girl so much that she began undoing her braid and running her fingers through her hair violently. Pulled off a few strands and shook them from her hand angrily. Looked back to him, eyes burning with determination. "Fine. Tell me what I have to do."

"I haven't got that worked out just yet." Humiliation and relief aside, Edward couldn't keep the shit-eating grin off his face.

"You're not going to-" she finished the sentence with some lewd gestures.

How many _fucking_ times was he going to have to tell people- "Jaysus, I'm a pirate, not a rapist."

"Right. There's a difference." Clearly, she didn't think so. Still, the girl seemed to believe him enough to turn her back.

"You seemed quite interested in it all not long ago, if I recall."

Well, of what he _could_ recall.

"Sure. Theives, killers and vandals I can deal with, but if I knew you were a bloody pirate-" She spat the last word as if it were poison, and Edward was finding it harder and harder not to be offended.

He tilted his head, "And what is it you have against pirates?"

"Are you going to threaten to stab me again if I don't tell you?"

"No."

"Then it's none of your bloody business."

Neha wandered over to a table, began blatantly rummaging through his things, picked up one of his spare wrist blades and fiddled with the retraction mechanism. Once again, hoarding her profusion of secrets and extracting his without a single qualm.

Edward snatched it back. "Don't play with that."

She examined him from the corner of her eye, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Intoned with feigned innocence, "Then what _shall_ I play with, _Captain_ _Kenway_?"

If he didn't know better, Edward would have thought she was flirting. But he did know better, knew all about her infernal _code_. The fact that she hadn't stopped insulting him since he set foot in the room couldn't be ignored either.

That didn't stop his mouth from going dry, or his mind from suddenly emptying its contents into the ocean, leaving him to stare dumbly at her damnably beautiful face. Mouth. Eyes. Collar bone. Breasts. No, don't let her catch- But she did, from the way she rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Can I have a change of clothes?"

He managed to pry his gaze above her neck. "Why?"

"I smell like fish."

Grinning humorously, "Don't we all?"

"Fish isn't the worst of it." She wrinkled her nose, picked up a flintlock pistol and looked into the barrel with one eye closed.

"Goddamn, that's _dangerous_!" Edward shouted, seizing the pistol and holding it out of reach. "Why the hell would you-"

"Where will I sleep?" She interrupted, completely unconcerned.

That was the least of his worries. Edward made a mental note to keep all guns out of the girl's reach, lest she unintentionally shoot herself in the head. (Or anyone else, for that matter.) He gave her a baffled look. She didn't seem to notice, or care, as she continued to walk about and go through his things.

"Fine, I'll work something out. You have a clean shirt right here." She smelled it, wrinkled her nose and amended, "Relatively."

"Yes, _my_ shirt. What in god's name are you doing?"

Neha finished unbuttoning her shirt and tossed it in his face. "Oh, like you haven't seen it all already." By the time he pulled it off his head, she was already wearing _his_ shirt and adjusting the sleeves, which were a few inches too long. (And damned if it didn't look good on her, but this was _not_ the time.)

"Oh bother, take it. Take everything. By all means." Captain Kenway's voice dripped with sarcasm as he gestured to the whole room. Neha shrugged, picked up a pair of trousers from his bed and started undoing her belt. Edward turned away, felt his face burn and sputtered, "I didn't mean that. For fuck's sake put it back."

From the sound of it, she already finished putting it on.

Again with the fake innocence, "Or what?"

She was playing him like a goddamn fiddle.

Edward whipped around, knowing his face was beet red, and unable to formulate a believable threat, tried to level a menacing glare. Unsuccessfully, from the way she laughed in his face.

He decided spending even a moment more in the girl's presence would be unwise, ushered her out of his cabin with the excuse of letters to sort through, slammed the door, let out a relived exhale, then realized that he _did_ have a mountain of parchment to decipher.

"Oh, bother." Edward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He sifted through the letters and books, set aside the ones in English to read later and the ones in French and Spanish for Adè to translate. Found that the rest were written in Portuguese, what might be Italian, some language that had dots placed over some of the letters –Dutch? German? Damned if he knew- and a handful of others he couldn't _begin_ to place. Curse the Templars and their ridiculous network. Was there place in the world uninfected by their poison?

Well, it meant less work for him, though less information about his enemy. He hadn't even gone through a tenth of the correspondence when the sun set. (At least it wasn't encrypted.) Spent some time examining the maps, seeing if there was any place worth visiting aside from the usual stops on the way to Singapore or any merchant ships that might be unfortunate enough cross their path. When his eyes burned for sleep, Edward popped a open bottle of rum and crawled into bed. An odd, steady thumping noise coming from the upper deck kept him from sleep. It continued for a good twenty minutes, but stopped when he finally roused himself to investigate.

He fell back and closed his eyes.

It was probably nothing.

* * *

**A/N**: Did anyone see that coming? I'm so predictable.

Have the next one written. Depending on feedback, I'll post it tomorrow or next week so... (you know what to do dammit)


	9. Like a Roach

"Bad luck to have a woman on board," they whispered wherever she went.

The crewmen were wary of Neha. They avoided her like a plague (though she was easily the least diseased of the lot) and cast baleful looks from a distance. There was that inane superstition, of course, but that couldn't account for all of it. The men either had great respect for their captain, or a deathly fear of castration. Likely both.

Either way, Neha enjoyed her solitude for the first week or so, passing the days perched in the crow's nest, dangling her feet in between the ship rails and admiring the ocean, or slinking in the shadows to watch the men play their odd pirate games below deck. Daydreaming kept her entertained for hours at a time, but sometimes her thoughts wandered to places better forgotten. Eventually, she was forced out of her own mind and had no choice to face reality. Ah yes, the mind-numbingly monotonous, hellishly boring reality of life at sea.

Neha managed to get on good terms with the cook's mate, a young Turkish boy –well, he was probably a little older than her, but queerly innocent in the face- by flirting a little, then listened to his story of how he went from the servant of a noble family to the fearsome Captain Kenway's kitchen. Even coaxed him to teach her a little of his native language and give her an extra something with every meal.

She could come and go as she pleased in the kitchen, and take what she wanted as long as it wasn't too much. That was nice. Though he seemed to enjoy her company, and was less wary than the others (claiming that Captain Kenway a 'good man' who wouldn't harm his crewmen so long as they did nothing wrong) the boy preferred to associate with his own kind –the _pirates_- who preferred not to associate with her.

It was the same damn thing day in and day out: azure water, clear skies, radiant sunlight and silver moonlight,. The outside air smelled like fish and rain, and the lower decks reeked of fish, piss, sweat and shit. Even her dreams confined her to the godforsaken plank called _The Jackdaw_.

One week, before Neha thought she'd go mad from the tediom. If not for the knowledge that they were making port soon, in a city called _Natal_, she would have gone over the edge much earlier. What "soon" meant in terms of ocean travel- well, she preferred not to dwell on it.

Land. That was the key. Once she set her feet on solid ground, freedom was guaranteed. It was just a matter of waiting and ensuring her legs didn't wither from disuse.

At least there was Adè –Adèwalè- the escaped slave from Trinidad, who saved Captain Kenway's life and became the Jackdaw's quartermaster. He had quite a few good stories to share, when persuaded, and lacked the fear and respect for Kenway as the rest. One day, Neha caught him muttering in French about some poorly put up rigging –whatever _that_ was- and made an offhand comment on how that was one language she could never get a handle on. Didn't think he heard (because she was talking to herself) but Adè looked up, intrigued, and asked, "How many do know, girl?"

How many, indeed? Neha began counting them on her fingers, ran out on both hands and shrugged.

Adè gave a low whistle and remarked, "Yet you delivered letters for a living?"

She suppressed a wistful smile. The things she could have been, if she wasn't born a woman. Better yet, if men weren't how they were about her sex. It was out of her hands either way.

"And how did you come to learn all that?"

Neha answered his question with another shrug, glanced at his face and lingered on the raised lines that dripped from his eyes and lower lip. Felt the familiar nag of unsatisfied curiosity and pried, "What are those marks?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did you get them?"

He raised his eyebrows and retorted, "You ignored my question, girl."

She rolled her eyes, practically bouncing on her toes with impatience. "It's a long story that would bore you to tears. Just tell me."

"It's a long story that would bore you to tears," he mirrored, chuckling when she bristled, "And apparently, you're the type to get a man drunk, make him spill all his most profound secrets, and disappear without a word."

Incredulously, "He told you about that."

"I could guess at most of it."

"Is he some sort of idiot?"

Neha meant it as a genuine question. One moment, the Kenway man seemed ready to slit her throat. The next, he was blurting random words as if she would know what they meant if he caught her off guard. After that, blatantly staring at her chest with the most vacant expression she'd ever seen on a man's face, before pushing her out and avoiding her for- well, for a week. She spotted him at the helm a few times, caught him staring at her from a distance now and then, but each time she glanced up, he started and skittered away like a cockroach caught in the light.

Neha was beyond baffled, and could think of only one explanation: the man was _clearly_ touched in the head.

Adèwalè flashed a white smile. "Aye, I reckon Edward's a special sort of idiot. You might even call him a genius." He said this without a hint of irony, which perplexed her greatly.

"A genius," She repeated flatly.

"Aye, a good man and a fair captain, though he's been acting odd these past few days. Did _you_ do something to him, by chance?"

"Can't say it wasn't good at the time, but that's probably not what you're referring to."

He had a good laugh at that. "I like you, girl. I'm glad we didn't have silt your throat and feed you to the sharks."

"And you do that often?"

"Ever heard the saying, 'curiosity killed the cat'."

That sounded vaguely threatening. Neha took that as her queue to leave the man to his "rigging," not without muttering, "I'm not a bloody cat." Once again assumed he didn't hear, but caught a light snort as she walked away.

Adèwalè possessed a sort of refinement in his manner and speech that was very _un_-pirate-like. She enjoyed his company (but somehow doubted the feeling was mutual) so much that she forgot what he was, where she was, and why she needed to find some way to run, fast and far without ever looking back.

* * *

It was that infernal pounding again. Every damn night, just as he was drifting off, it would start. And when he motivated himself enough to leave the bed, always at that _exact_ moment, it would stop. He mentioned it to a few of his crewmen, who gave him odd looks and claimed they heard no such thing.

That night, the noise roused him from his sleep the second time. A rare good dream, disappated. Captain Kenway decided enough was enough, threw off his covers, and stomped out to the deck. Trevors was supposed to be on watch, but there was no sign of the man. Only the pounding, which sounded like it was getting distant, then closer again.

The assassin narrowed his eyes, spotted a dark silhouette highlighted in silver, moving with unnatural speed. The pounding- footsteps- At this ungodly hour!

"Trevors? What the hell, man?"

The lout didn't seem to hear him, and if he did, showed no sign of stopping.

"Oy! I said slow down," Edward called, moving to intercept his crewman.

He realized the shape of the silhouette was all wrong for Trevors, a short, stout middle-aged man. Realized anyone moving at that speed would need more distance to decellerate properly, but couldn't step out of the way in time. The impact knocked the wind out of him and sent them both stumbling back into the rail.

"What the devil- _Neha_?" Edward sputtered through the hair in his mouth.

The girl pulled back and violently swatted his arms away. Glared up at him and snapped, "_Kenway_, you should be asleep."

"You should too."

Neha touched the part of her hair that was previously in his mouth and made a face. "What are you, my bloody mother?"

"I-" No. Better not to dignify that with a response. Edward pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "So, you do this every night."

"Yes."

She had to be _barking_ mad, running in circles like a dog chasing its tail at this ungodly hour. He waited for an explanation, realized he would get none, and implored "_Why_?"

The girl was eyeing the tattoos on his chest, making no attempt at subtlety. "Not much else to do on this godforsaken plank. Got to keep sane somehow." Looked back to his face and licked her lips. "Have you decided what to do with me?"

"What to do." He repeated dumbly, staring at her mouth. Regained his wits and added, "What?"

Neha raised a brow and enunciated as if to an imbecile: "_The terms of my release_."

Edward had given it some thought, between charting courses and reading letters and putting the pieces of an impossibly large, maddeningly intricate puzzle together. He gave it lots of thought in fact, over the past ten days, and kept coming to the same conclusion.

"If I let you go, they'd hunt you down."

No place in the world was safe from Templar eyes and ears. A missing messenger carrying an invaluable artifact- they wouldn't rest until she was caught. And what they would do after…

She crossed her arms and sniffed, "I can take care of myself."

Captain Kenway wondered if she'd say the same thing if she knew. If she knew… There was something else gnawing at his thoughts those past few days.

"Ade tells me you have quite the, er, gift for tongues."

From the way she smirked, his was not the only mind in the gutter. "You could call it that."

"Are you _sure_ you're not a Templar spy?"

Asking again didn't change anything, didn't sway him one way or the other, but he had a decision to make.

Sighing, "Still haven't told me what that is, Kenway."

She'd learn soon enough. He hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

"Do you happen to know, German, Dutch or what was it-" He paused to scratch his head "-Portuguese?"

"Yes."

"Which one?"

"No, yes to all."

"You know any others?"

"Yes."

By _Jove_, it was like pulling teeth.

"Care to tell me which?" He drawled, growing impatient.

She looked to the sky, pondering, then said, "Any you can name."

How she came to learn such a multitude of languages, or why, were questions Neha wouldn't answer. The word "spy" echoed in his mind because it was the only explanation that made sense. If she was, the girl was either incredibly, ridiculously, _preternaturally_ good, or she wasn't one at all. It was worth a shot. Either way, she couldn't do much harm, trapped on this "godforsaken plank."

"I… see," Edward mused, rubbing his chin. It sounded impossible. She _had_ to be lying or bluffing or stretching the truth, but it was worth a shot. "Then, do you mind translating some correspondence?"

Neha opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and then turned away abruptly. For a moment, he thought she'd start running again, but she turned back just as quickly. "I will if you'll let me go."

He saw her mouth pressed shut, as if suppressing a smile, saw the light in her eyes that was more excitement than determination. Decided to take a chance. "No promises."

"Fine, I'll do it," she said before the last syllable left his lips.

Edward narrowed his eyes, suspicious of her enthusiasm for such banal work. A spy. She had to be. Couldn't be. Had to be. Couldn't. It made total sense. It made no sense. What other explanation? The premise of her moniker was that she knew nothing of the men she worked for. Or was it? Still, someone stupid enough look directly into the barrel of a gun- Devil curse him, he didn't understand at all, avoided her this long because he couldn't have a pretty face cloud his judgment, and _still_ had no answer.

His second sight was no help either. Enemies glowed red and allies blue, but the girl changed color every time he blinked until she took on a queer shade of purple. This was odd. Deeply perturbing, in fact, but it neither damned nor absolved her.

Adè was certain she was innocent, and Edward trusted his (friend) quartermaster's judgment but- "Why?" he asked at last.

"Because I want to."

Captain Kenway leaned back on the railing and clenched his hands around the wood, feeling irritation bubble in his chest. He wondered, not for the first time, if the girl was more trouble than she was worth. If it wouldn't be easier to set her free (to be killed) the next time they made port. He wondered, but knew his conscience wouldn't allow him.

(Right, his conscience. Not that other thing)

"Give me a straight answer or so help me, I'll cut off your fucking nose, _wench_," he almost meant it, too.

Neha raised her eyebrows at him, not the least intimidated. "I've done it before, if you seen the cook." he added with a devilish grin. The assassin watched from the corner of his eye, noting the slight stiffening in her shoulders and pursing of her lips. Felt perverse satisfaction at finally knocking the girl down a peg. About damn time.

With a slight exhale, she regained composure and retorted sourly, "I don't expect a _pirate_ to comprehend, but I happen to enjoy reading and writing."

"You… _enjoy_… reading and writing." Barking mad wasn't the half of it, he decided.

"See? You don't understand."

He crossed his arms and raised a brow. "Because I'm a pirate."

"Amongst other things," Neha muttered, picking at a splinter on the railing.

The assassin flexed his wrist, then remembered he took off his blades to go to bed. He wasn't going to stab her or anything, but the wench was in _dire_ need of a healthy dose of fear.

"Are you sure you're in a position to be insulting me?"

"Oh _Captain_ Kenway," she put her hand on her chest with feigned outrage, "I would never!"

He glared. She attempted to keep a straight face. He clenched his hands and briefly considered throwing her in the brig for being a festering pain in arse. (And damn if it wasn't tempting.) Rubbed his itching eyes and decided to deal with the nefarious harpy in the morning after some decent rest. "I'm going to bed," Edward muttered, turning to his cabin.

"Shall I join you?"

He refused to validate the taunt with an answer, gave her a most displeased glare, and slammed the door. The silence in the wake of the resounding _thump_ rang in his burning ears. A whisper from the darkest, dumbest recess of his mind wondered if she meant it. He shut it out by sticking his head under a pillow.

Here was Edward Kenway, notorious pirate, skilled assassin, a ghost, a hurricane, a force greater than nature. The Captain of the Jackdaw did not tolerate insubordination, not from his crew and _certainly_ not from prisoners. His ship, his rules, his _rule_ damn it!

But why, for her, did he make an exception?

The answer was not an excuse. No, he decided he would have to throw the girl in the brig one of these days, to teach a lesson if nothing else.

Just… not yet.

* * *

A/N: I don't even know what's happening anymore. I can't get a handle on Edward's character because he's incredibly complex, but hopefully I'll fix that soon.

I know for sure he's not some ultra-suave ladies' man like so many fics make him out to be. I mean, he gets laid because he's good looking and has some superficial charm, but the man can't emotion properly to save his life. Caroline was done with his shit after just a few months of marriage. I'm 99% sure Tessa (his second wife in canon) barely tolerated him, and Anne dodged that bullet because she knew he has the emotional IQ of a giant baby. Tbh I find this interpretation of Edward so much more endearing. Also, he may be clever in many ways, but you can't deny the man is a bloody idiot. "Hurr durr here's some random guy marooned on the beach next to me I think I'll kill him and steal his clothes to impersonate him though I have no bloody clue about the situation but hey gold is gold. What could possibly go wrong?" Also, "This medicine is quite spoilt." Yeah genius, after two years under the ocean and then some time in your pants, (because where else does he put the loot from the underwater quests?) shockingly, it's gone bad. Dumbass. (I say this quite affectionately)

As for Neha, I've done quite a bit of research on polyglots and how that all works. It's pretty abnormal, but not completely extraordinary to know so many languages, especially when they share the same roots. For example, if you know enough Spanish, French, Italian and Portuguese come pretty naturally. That's four right there.

I'm ranting again. Please tell me what you think. There are so many regular readers for this story, and I know I haven't heard from all of you. Even telling me this sucks, or Neha sucks, or this story sucks, is 100 times better than keeping quiet. (Did anyone catch the Ziio homage?)


	10. Transparent

Neha was out of practice.

She was forbidden to read the letters she delivered, and books were rare in a world populated by illiterate scum. Almost forgot what it felt like to put ink to paper. When she wrote, the letters were crooked, shaky, _sloppy_.

"Fuck. Fuck me. It's only been three years. I couldn't have gotten _this_ stupid," she muttered furiously, crumpling yet another sheet of incomplete translation and tossing it over her shoulder.

Dutch, German and English were similar enough that if you knew two, the third came effortlessly.

At least, it used to be effortless. As for French, Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese, knowing one was the same as knowing them all. She _used_ to know them all and knew them so well. Three years ago, Neha could have gone through the entire pile in a day. (Letters, not the books. She was good, but never _that_ good. No, the books would take much longer.)

There were some in Urdu, Hindi, and Mandarin that she didn't dare touch for fear she might have forgotten too much. The ones in Farsi were set aside for different reasons.

Kenway let her into his cabin early in the morning. The room was considerably neater, the absence of guns, blades, and carelessly discarded clothing most evident. Books and parchment were stacked haphazardly on the center table along with a few inkwells and pens. The sight of it had filled her with giddy anticipation.

How long had it been?

She crossed out another word, decided the whole sentence was wrong, considered starting over.

Too long. Too damn long, and now her brain was as mushy as a boiled potato. No, worse, rotten like month-old grapes. How could she let this happen?

Neha didn't hear the door open, didn't hear footsteps circle behind her nor notice the shadow as the man hovered over her. At the light tap on her shoulder, she startled and almost spilled ink over her latest attempt at decent translation.

"_Goddamn it, you idiotic pig."_

"Huh?"

Neha shook her head, realizing she slipped into German, and gestured to the small stack of barely-passable translations before turning back to her work. "They're shit, but it's the best I can do right now." She hated how it sounded almost apologetic and furiously reminded herself that _she_ was doing _him_ a favor, not the other way around.

Parchment crackled as _Captain_ Kenway perused the letters, making some sort of dumb humming noise before informing her, "They look pretty good to me."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course _you_ would think that."

"Bloody hell, can't you go five seconds without insulting me?"

"You certainly don't make it easy- fine, fine, sorry," she amended when she saw his wrist twitch, "Force of habit. This would be a lot easier if I had a little context."

The rubbed his chin, apparently giving it some thought, before giving a curt "No."

"Still think I'm with these _Templars_?"  
From what she could piece together, the Templars were some sort of cult obsessed with crystal skulls, apples, and _Blutfläschchen_. 'Flasks of blood,' was her best approximation. Worse, _ancient_ flasks of blood filled with the "essence of men long passed." Her mind conjured images of glass bottles filled with crusty black goo, and it made her stomach turn. Why anyone would want a rotten corpse's dried blood- She didn't even want to think about it.

Aside from lamenting her rusted mind and cursing with frustration, Neha found herself muttering "What the fuck?" quite frequently. If Kenway took part or believed in any of this madness, or suspected her of throwing in her lot with _that_ loony bunch, well, 'wrong' and 'ridiculous' didn't begin to cut it.

Then, there was that word: _Attentäter_. Assassin. Captain Alonzo used the same word addressing Kenway: _asesino_. It was another term for mercenary, as far as she knew, but from the letters, these "assassins" were far more than hired thugs.

It was like learning the lyrics to a song in a language she didn't speak. Knowing the tune and words didn't change the fact that it was complete gibberish. Some of the letters contained more normal (boring) information on concerning trade routes and inventory. Their practicality in the midst of all the insanity confused her even more.

"No. Maybe. I don't know," Kenway sighed, jerking her back to the present, "It's late. You should get some rest."

Neha looked to the window, expecting a blue afternoon sky, but saw inky black. How long-

"It's almost midnight," he interjected, following her gaze, "Did you eat anything today?"

That explained why it was getting harder to think. And the absolutely dismal state of her handwriting- trembling, cramped, sweaty fingers. She set the pen down, flexed her hand and stifled a yawn. "Thanks mum."

Neha wasn't looking to provoke the man. Her penchant for poking sleeping snakes with sticks was just impossible to suppress.

Still, her comment put him off. "Would you stop calling me that? Jaysus, I doubt if I was your mum, you would-"

"Go on," she prodded.

The man narrowed his eyes in warning. She ignored it and pressed, "Are all pirates prudes, Kenway?"

This succeeded in properly pissing him off. "Having a sense of propriety doesn't make me a prude any more than whoring around makes you a whore," Kenway snapped, yanking off the bracers on his wrists and with them, those terrifying (and fascinating) hidden blades. Probably to prevent himself from stabbing her in a sudden fit of rage, Neha deduced with a twinge of horror.

For a moment, his eyes- she could swear- well, from the way her own eyes burned for sleep- no, Kenway's eyes were clearly blue. There were some small flecks of orange and green towards the very center but aside from that, his irises were of the same color and clarity as the Caribbean ocean. Neha wrinkled her nose at the inadvertently poetic comparison. Kenway, misinterpreting her expression, shot her a heated glare.

"Fair enough," she relented after a full minute of stiff silence. It was more to placate him than because she agreed. The paradox of piracy- theft, murder, general depravity- and a "sense of propriety," as if refusing to say he fucked her would negate the reality of it, was at once perplexing and infuriating.

Indignation morphed to befuddlement as the man attempted to discern the sincerity of her statement. He gave up shortly with a huff, cracked his neck and yawned. "I'm going to bed-" The corner of her lip twitched at the memory. He caught it and barked,_ "Don't you dare_!"

"I wasn't-"

"No."

"But-"

"Not one bloody word, you harpy, or I _swear_ I will-"

"Cut off my nose?"

Well, she did it. Poked the snake. Poked it some more.

Now it was awake.

"Get out. _Now_."

There it was again, with his eyes. Too distinct to be a trick of the light. _What the-_ Neha stood a bit too quickly, clutching the desk when her vision faded to black. She willed her legs to walk to the door, but they remained firmly planted in place. It was irrational to refuse to leave when she was dying to run to the kitchen and stuff her face with everything in sight. More than irrational- downright _idiotic_, but she did not take well to being told what to do.

Short of crossing her arms, stomping her foot and crying, "I'll leave when I want to" like a child, Neha didn't know how to satisfy her rebellious impulse.

Well, some small revenge should suffice.

How what she did next constituted revenge, Neha didn't know. Chalk it up to the time, or the fact that she was tired, hungry, thirsty and in dire need of a piss.

She stepped in front of the man and leaned forward, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet, rising so they were eye to eye. Kenway didn't flinch from the proximity, and stood his ground stubbornly, arms crossed.

He would regret it.

Neha quickly closed the gap between their faces, kissing him lightly on the cheek- the one with the scar- and rocked back on her heels to admire his flabbergasted expression.

Indeed, it sufficed. Her legs could move.

With her warmest, sweetest, least sincere smile, she told him, "Good night, Edward," and just before closing the door, murmured softly, "Sweet dreams."

* * *

She knew. Of course she knew, what with him being so bloody obvious about it, but that didn't give her a free pass to fuck with him.

And she _was_ fucking with him, right?

"Right."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Johnson. So we'll be making port soon?"

"Aye sir. Under an hour to go, if the wind keeps up."

"Good, dismissed."

"Woolgathering again, Edward?"

"I- what?"

His quartermaster quirked a brow. "You seen preoccupied."

"You read the letters, Ade," Edward replied, eyes fixed on the horizon, "This is bigger than anything we came across yet."

After days of burning the midnight oil seated in uneasy silence across from _her_ for lack of a better choice, he uncovered a pattern. Rather, a motive.

The Templars were well established in Europe but their influence wore thin everywhere else. _San Luis_ was to stop at Natal, a few cities along the coast of Africa, once in India, then at Singapore. Letters and resources were to be distributed at each stop to aid in recruiting members and the location of various artifacts of untold power. By eliminating just a handful of men at each stop, they may be able to bring the whole Templar operation to its knees. The letters Neha translated and those already in English contained much of the same information, which was how Edward knew they were actual translations and not some fictional nonsense she concocted out of spite.

It also meant that the girl might not have lied about knowing "any language he could name." Captain Kenway wondered just what the hell kind of brain was hiding under all that shiny black hair and glanced up to the crow's nest where she sat swinging her legs off the edge, with not one care in the world.

No. Not the time. Never the time, damn it. Edward forced his gaze back to Ade, who was watching him with a bemused smile.

"Shut up." His ears were turning pink.

"I didn't say anything."

"It's not what you think."

Still smirking, "Of course not."

"We have to focus. Three men in three days if we want to stay on schedule. Cut off a chicken's head and-" he stopped short, realizing it was a shitty metaphor.

"And its body could go on living."

"Not for long- you know what I meant, damn it. _Focus_."

"_I'm _not the inconsient one."

"What?"

"Ever consider reading a book?"

Edward glared.

"Guess not."

Before Captain Kenway had a chance to give his quartermaster a piece of his mind (and possibly fist because damn it, he was fed up with certain _people_ insulting his intelligence) the shout of "land ho!" reminded him there were more important matters at hand.

Edward looked up in time to see Neha jump to her feet and felt terror seize his chest as she swayed dangerously and almost toppled over the edge of the crow's nest. The girl flailed her arms and stumbled back at the last second. Without skipping a beat, she scrambled down to the deck, nearly slipping at least four times. The suspense nearly killed him.

"Fucking hell, how has this clod not died ten times over?" He sighed when she somehow reached the floor without breaking her neck.

She skipped up to them blithely, eyes alight and lips pressed together, suppressing a grin.

"Natal, hmm. A Spanish settlement?" The girl leaned over the rail and bounced on her toes.

"Portuguese," Ade corrected.

"Even better!"

Edward regarded her suspiciously from the corner of his eye. He said nothing about letting her go once they made port, and had no intention to do so. Obviously, the girl was planning something, but had to realize she couldn't get away so easily. Then again- he remembered her strange habit of sprinting on the deck at night, recalled the speed of her gait and thought it impossible that even _he_ (or any human on earth) could run so fast.

Of course. She was keeping her skills sharp. And if that was just practice, how fast could she run when she really put her mind to it? The moment Neha set foot on land, she would be lost to them, and she knew it. As for getting on land- it was a simple matter of crossing the few feet of board once the Jackdaw docked. Which she could accomplish by, once again, running.

It was mind-bogglingly simple, stupid, reckless, and probably would have worked. With a sigh, he decided he put it off long enough and turned to her. "That reminds me, I have something to show you."

"What?" Her face contained no trace of wariness. Just simple, open curiosity.

"Follow me," Edward tipped his head to the door leading to the lower decks and started walking.

It was too easy. He wondered again how on earth the girl survived so long.

"Gods, it stinks down here," Neha remarked, stumbling a bit in the darkness and steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder. Captain Kenway made a noncommittal grunt, put a hand on the small of her back and guided her in front of him.

"What business do you have in Natal?"

"Oh bit of this, bit of that that," he muttered absently, switching to his second sight to navigate the murk.

"And what are you going to show me?"

"It's a surprise-" He caught her by the arm and pulled back as she tripped over a rope and nearly plunged face first into a wooden post. "-Watch yourself, damn it."

"Would if I could. How can _you_ see anything down here?"

"I know my own ship."

It wasn't a total lie.

"Sure."

They continued for a while in silence, and were in sight of the destination when Neha stopped abruptly and stepped to the side. "I can _not_ believe I fell for that," he heard her hiss under her breath.

So, her eyes finally adjusted. It was too late.

The girl spun on her heels, but before she took a single step, he caught her by the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder.

"You _evil_ conniving son of a bitch!" She screeched, pounding his back and kicking her feet, "Put me down. _You can't do this_."

Despite the how fast she could run, Neha was surprisingly weak. Her attempts to wound him felt like being clawed at by a small, indignant kitten. Edward had a good chuckle at that, which turned into a pained grunt when she savagely pulled his hair. "Put me down!"

The assassin obliged, dumping her into the brig and shutting the door before she could spring to her feet and jump him. He locked the door and jostled it a bit to ensure it would hold. "I doubt you believe me, but this is for your own good."

"Is that so. Mummy knows best, doesn't she?"

Locked in a cage with no way out, and she was mocking the man with the keys. She was either very brave or incredibly stupid, and definitely succeeding in pissing him off.

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to quell the irritation bubbling in his chest. "It will take several weeks to get to Singapore. If you want to spend all that time here, in the darkness with this stench and naught but the bilge rats for company-"

"Fuck you!"

"-Then that's your perogative."

"Mark my words, _Captain_ Kenway," she said before bursting into some language with lots of harsh consonants and rolling "r's. Screamed for a good five minutes before she exhausted her voice and settled for wordless glaring.

Edward patiently waited for her to finish, tilted his head and said, "Noted," before turning away, feeling smug, satisfied, and only marginally guilty.

* * *

**A/N**: New chapter so soon? Yeah, I'm the best. Might take a break from this story for a while, though, because it's getting a lot harder to write. There are a few big action scenes coming up and it's not my strong suit so I keep putting it off and blargh.

Also, I'm itching to start a Garrett (from Theif) fic, and maybe some Hayziio and Connorline. (No promises. Just my short attention span.)

Btw thanks to that one person who reviewed you're the best and the rest of you are dead to me.

(JK but really guys)


	11. Fire and Blood

"I understand that things don't always go according to plan. Believe me, I understand. But how in god's name did you end up setting an entire plantation on fire?"

Edward opened his mouth and shut it when Adè continued.

"You woke the entire city. Da Cruz got away. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I-" He began, but was once again interrupted.

"Of course, the problem is you _weren't_ thinking! Now we're being followed by god knows-"

"Jaysus Adè, shut your gob for one moment and _listen_!"

The Jackdaw's quartermaster halted his furious pacing, crossed his arms over his massive chest, and glared down at his captain. Silence hung in the air like dead weight as Edward groped for an acceptable excuse.

After much muttering and many false starts, he said, "I found this."

He procured _this_ from his robes and set it on the table.

"And what exactly is _this_?" Ade picked up the object in question and waved it in Edward's face violently.

"It's a book." Edward snatched it back and replaced it in his coat.

"Yes. I can see that. I mean, what about it?"

"Dunno. I mean, it's important. Very important. Probably," he added the last part under his breath.

Which was, apparently, the last straw.

"I'm so tired of your shit, Edward!"

Adèwalè stormed out of the captain's quarters and slammed the door with a resounding _thud_, leaving Edward to pinch the bridge of his nose and reflect on his actions.

It was an honest mistake. He set a haystack on fire to create a diversion. Not his fault that this night was particularly arid and windy, or that by the time he noticed how large the fire was, it was too late to do anything but escape to _the Jackdaw_, wake the crewmen who weren't drunkenly passed out in a tavern, and set sail.

Two out of three targets eliminated was far from failure and Da Cruz was more likely to go into hiding than resume Templar activities. As for the pursuers, his brig had a solid two-hour head start and would surely lose them in the coming storm. Their only real loss was the surgeon (who was among those drunkenly passed out in a tavern) but the taylor did just as well in a pinch. Shrewd, ever-cautious Adèwalè was thoroughly put out because surgeons, especially good ones, were exceptionally rare. They found Tahir by a brilliant stroke of luck and losing him for such a stupid reason was, in Adè's eyes, damn near unforgivable.

As for the book, Edward discovered it in a locked drawer under a false bottom in Franco's study, following the instruction of the man's last words. So yes, he sounded like an idiot when he told Adè that it was (probably) important but a man, even a Templar, did not use his dying breath to lie or talk of _un_important things.

"It's my life's work, and I see it in the hands of _assassinos_ _em vez de deixá-lo queimar_," Franco rasped before closing his eyes for the last time.

Edward wiped his bloody hands on the dead Templar's shirt before handling the book and tucking it into his coat. Realized it was a pointless gesture, as his robes were also soaked with blood, and wondered if he had time to search the rest of the study when the sharp _crack_ of a smoldering plank falling from the ceiling told him that it was, in fact, time to leave.

The parts of his outfit that weren't covered in blood were stained black where the fire singed him. After a mild coughing fit, Captain Kenway decided he was _glad_ it was the surgeon and not the taylor they left behind.

He called Johnson, the navigator, to his cabin to discuss changes to their route (on account of being pursued by god knows how many ships) then sifted through the stack of documents, searching for… Well, he didn't know _what_ exactly. The feeling that he was missing something, or rather, forgot something significant nagged at him. After a few hours, Edward concluded that whatever it he forgot wasn't among the items on the table.

Of course. The book. It was still in his coat. Captain Kenway skimmed the pages. Saw it was written in a wonky-looking script that reminded him of the Roman alphabet but was, as with most Templar correspondence, incomprehensible. He wondered if-

"Oh, bother."

Tempting as the notion of leaving her in the brig for the rest of the journey was, Edward realized he needed the girl.

(Not like that, mind. To translate documents and whatnot.)

The sooner he let her out, the more likely she was to cooperate.

"No use putting this off," he muttered unhappily.

She was definitely red. Perhaps with the faintest trace of violet at the edges but- no, that was probably wishful thinking. Maybe he should- oh for god's sake, what's a weak little kitten like _her_ going to do _him_?

"I'm Captain Edward Kenway, damn it," he reminded himself, fishing out the keys and jamming them into the lock.

At the creak of the metal door, Neha looked up. "Are we in Singapore already?"

"No."

She dropped her head back to the filthy floor and closed her eyes. "Didn't think so."

Edward crossed his arms and waited for her to stand. And waited. And waited.

Finally, he snapped, "Get up. I'm letting you out."

"No, I think I'll stay a while."

"Like hell you will," he growled.

"Or what _Captain_, you'll throw me in the brig?" Neha giggled, "I'm shaking in my boots!"

Edward was beyond done with tolerating her nonsense. He pulled the girl up roughly by the arm. Instead of standing upright, she went limp and slumped to the floor like a child throwing a tantrum. With a furious grunt, Edward once again heaved her over his shoulder.

"Or cut off my nose?" She continued, shaking with mirth and slightly muffled by his back, "No, I don't think you will. I think that despite everything, you _like_ my face."

Well, she had him there.

"And you wouldn't hit a woman because apparently, you're a good man."

Right again, though he was sorely tempted on more than one occasion.

"Which means you wouldn't starve me either. That's cruel."

He made it to the main deck and unceremoniously dumped the malignant bitch on her (very firm, shapely) arse. She rose unsteadily to her feet and jabbed a finger at his chest. "So tell me, _Captain_ Kenway, what could _possibly_-" Cut off abruptly and stared, mouth agape.

"That's blood." Eyes wide as she took in his appearance by the moonlight. "You're _covered in blood_."

"Never mind that, it's not mine. Mostly," he amended, remembering the sting in his side. Saw the way she swayed, detected a hint of slurring in her speech and caught a whiff of something bitter wafting from her person. "Are you- are you _drunk_?"

"Only a lot. I mean-" hiccup, giggle "-That's a lot of blood."

"Who the hell gave you rum?"

She didn't seem to hear the question, instead stared at him with an expression of horrified humor. "That smell… Something burnt?" She squeaked, taking a shaky step back, "Oh, I don't feel good."

Edward didn't even get the chance to step aside. Vomit splattered onto his already ruined coat, and its source staggered back further, hit the mast, and promptly fell unconscious.

"Brilliant."

* * *

The morning air smelled like rain. Neha felt the swing sway under her pleasantly, sleepily wondered what she'd have for breakfast, and hoped her mother wouldn't be angry that she fell asleep in the veranda. As if a few mosquito bites ever killed anyone.

She smiled at the thought. Opened her eyes. Wooden ceiling. Dark, except amber light from the oil lamp. Everything was rocking -

Reality fell on her like a ton of bricks, followed by a crippling wave of homesickness. She turned to the space beside her, expecting a warm body, and wondered where he-

Reality hit her a second time, just as hard, along with a pang of longing that almost brought tears.

She was alone. Well - Neha glanced at the bright golden head at the table across from the bed, and amended- alone in every way that mattered.

And angry. _Furious_, in fact. Until then, she was only mildly put off by her whole idiotic situation because aside from keeping her on the ship against her will, Kenway didn't particularly bother her. The letters he let her translate provided a pleasant diversion, and he was a surprisingly good sport about her constant stream of insults and provocation.

Then he threw her in that dank, reeking cage just as freedom was in sight. Neha didn't like being forced to do things she didn't want to do (Well, who did?). After years of living as she pleased, she forgot how it felt.

And then, those words: "This is for your own good."

All the times a man imposed his will on her using the same phrase as justification- it was another feeling better left forgotten. To say it made her blood boil, stomach churn, and chest burn with ire would be an understatement. He had no right to make that decision. No _fucking_ right.

Neha wanted to kill him, though death would be a kindness compared to the helplessness she felt and the frustration left in its wake. There was also her code, which condemned murder, revenge through violence, and excessive passion in any form. All good, logical rules with good, logical reasons that for the life of her, she couldn't remember.

Neha lay on the bed, feeling her heart pound in her ears, trying to find some way-

Wait. Bed. She was in a bed, _his_ bed, and –checking under the covers, saw that indeed, she was- naked. Great.

"Fuck me," Neha groaned, pressing her face into a pillow.

"Good morning to you too," he said without looking.

Neha dreaded to ask. It was highly unlikely, and even so, she would have remembered because he was good. Very good. For a pirate, that man was _quite_ generous in certain respects. Neha bit back a smile at the memory, then scowled and reminded herself she wanted to kill him.

"Um. Kenway."

"Hmm," he hummed absently, apparently extremely engrossed in his work. His hair was out of its usual ponytail, yellow and glowing like a sunbeam by the light of lamp. There, again, with the unintentionally poetic comparison. It was probably just the rum because Neha was _very_ angry and should _not_ have been so easily distracted by some shiny blonde hair.

"What happened to my clothes?" She snapped, equally irritated at the idiot pirate and her own stupid self.

"What happened-" Kenway glanced up, flushed, and forced his gaze away. "I assure you, I had nothing to do with that."

Alcohol had the effect of causing her to undress (whether she was with a man or alone) because it made her hot. "Thought so." She spotted the blood-stained shirt and trousers, picked them up, and dropped them immediately upon catching the lingering stench of the lower decks where she spent the last few days. No good. "Toss me something to wear, will you?"

Kenway obliged with minimal grumbling, rummaging through a large trunk for quite some time before finding something to his satisfaction.

"Here," he flung the garment in her face without looking.

"This is a dress," Neha observed, holding the frothy blue _thing_ against the light and wrinkling her nose, "Why do _you_ have a dress?"

"It's not- I don't have to explain myself to you. Take what you're given or walk around naked for all I- Wait, I don't mean that."

Neha laughed despite herself. The mirth died as soon as she donned the _thing_; it was heavy, a bit too large, with the sleeves sliding off her narrow shoulders and constricting her arms. She couldn't run in a skirt (hell, even walking was a chore) and he knew it. Add that to the long list of things the scoundrel would have to pay for.

Well, at least some of it could be fixed.

"Give me a knife."

"It seems you're under the impression that I was born yesterday," he drawled, resting his cheek on his hand and regarding her with mild approval, "It suits you, the dress."

Neha glared, suppressing her embarrassment, and ground through clenched teeth, "Fine, I'll find it myself."

Apparently not keen on the idea of her rummaging through his things (again) the man extracted one of the many weapons kept on his person and set it on the table, eyeing her warily.

Neha plopped down across from him and picked it up. "Suits me, my ass," she hissed, and savagely cut a jagged slit in the skirt to the knee. Took a few inches off the hem so she could walk without tripping. Maybe she could saw off some of that horrendous lace, too… She examined her reflection on the silver surface of the dagger, found herself thinking of leaping across the table and sinking it into the pirate's throat. _All the way to the hilt_. Oh, it would feel so good. She glanced up to gauge the possibility when, before she could blink, the dagger was gone from her grasp.

"I told you, I wasn't born yesterday."

"No, but keep this up and you might die tomorrow," she retorted tartly.

Flashing a white smile, "I'd like to see you try."

He was smug. So _fucking_ smug because he was right- the man was bigger, much stronger, and she didn't stand a chance. They both knew it. Which was just...

Neha snapped. Her hand, which was already clenched tightly, drew back and sprung forward almost on its own accord, and connected with Captain Edward Kenway's solar plexus.

* * *

**A/N:** Yoooo right on schedule (If you didn't notice, I usually update on Fridays). Franco said, "before I see it burn." If anyone knows Portuguese, tell me if I got that wrong. There was blood on Neha's old (borrowed) clothes because it rubbed off when Edward carried her, wearing his own bloody clothes (In case that wasn't clear).

Ever since I heard Tristan D. Lalla (Ade's voice actor) saying "I'm so tired of your shit, Edward!" I've been wanting to work that into the story. Found myself laughing out loud at the "generous for a pirate" remark because innuendo.

The chapter title is a GOT reference because why the hell not?

Edward has a habit of pinching the bridge of his nose because my headcanon is Haytham picked it up from him.

Thank you all for all those insightful reviews. This one was a _bitch_ to get out, but you guys really helped. There will probably never be any action scenes ever because I tried and ended up deleting three pages of total crap.


	12. Battle

Whatever traces of violet he thought he saw a few hours ago were gone. The only blue about her was the (now completely ruined) dress. And all right, the color complemented her golden-brown skin and red-black hair very nicely, but that was neither here nor there. She glowed pure crimson under his second sight, which marked her as an enemy.

A small, weak, defenseless enemy.

"I'd like to see you try," Edward mocked, half meaning it because _that_ would be pretty damn funny.

Neha was a pain in the ass. Fucked with him ruthlessly when the urge struck her (and yes, that was more than a little terrifying) but aside from that, the girl posed no _actual_ threat to him or anyone on board, which was probably why he let her get away with so much. And why he gave her the knife without much objection.

They both knew the score. Despite being a bit off his game the past few days –or was it weeks?- Edward was the emperor, the king, the _captain_ of this country, the Jackdaw, while _she_ was a mere prisoner with little more than acerbic wit and linguistic capability at her disposal.

(And the ability to project vomit across astounding distances, he recalled with a grimace.)

The girl may have been incredibly dense in certain respects, but she knew. Throwing her in the brig reinforced this knowledge for them both: that she was being kept against her will, would be kept indefinitely, and could do exactly nothing about it short of flinging herself into the ocean. No, not even that because he could not in good conscience let her drown, so she would be back on the ship just as soon as she jumped.

He wondered if the thought occurred to her.

Goading the girl to try to kill him was probably the final insult.

Still, he did _not_ see that coming, and when it did, several things happened at once.

Neha squeaked and crumpled to the ground, clutching her right hand to her chest. Edward made a noise that was more surprised than pained. He had changed out of his ruined white robes to the clean(er) black set, but kept the relatively undamaged armor, so felt nothing more than a light pat from a punch.

The girl, on the other hand…

"You put your thumb inside of your fist," Captain Kenway observed lightly.

Ouch. The man didn't know whether to laugh or… Well, laugh. Before he could, the door to his cabin was flung open forcefully, followed by a slightly moist, thoroughly unhappy-looking Adèwalè.

"What is it?"

"We lost most of then in the storm like you thought."

Captain Kenway narrowed his eyes. "How many?"

"One, but she'll be a pain in the ass."

"Ready the canons," he ordered, pushing past the taller man in the doorway.

"What happened to this one?"

"Never mind that."

At his callous dismissal, "that" glared up and spat, "_Nee notilo kukka yeraga!_"

"Right," he raised an eyebrow and turned back to Ade, "Those missing crew members aren't going to replace themselves."

Ade nodded with a slight twinkle in his eye, knowing which particular crewmember Edward was alluding to, and walked briskly to his post.

"Stay here," Edward told the girl as an afterthought, knowing she wouldn't, but there were more pressing matters at hand, and shut the door.

Dawn was still more than an hour away, and since he hoped this wouldn't take more than half that, the Jackdaw would not have the advantage of blinding sunlight against her opponent. The enemy ship was still quite a distance away, gaining quickly. Large, fast, heavily armed. Adè was right: she would be a bitch to take down.

Unless…

The water was inky black under the indigo pre-dawn sky. Darkness made for excellent cover. It was risky, but danger was an occupational hazard for pirates and assassins. Double that for a pirate assassin. (Or would he be an assassin-pirate? Never mind. Not important.)

Captain Kenway took a quick inventory of his personal artillery: two cutlasses, a pair of hidden blades, four flintlock pistols (rendered useless by moisture, but he would keep them) and a dagger or three for good measure. The tailor stitched small gash on his left rib. It stung occasionally, would burn like hell soon enough, but nothing he couldn't handle.

"Adè, I need you to keep her distracted. When we get close, I'm sneaking on board. Won't have enough men to work the cannons _and_ fight us off once I'm finish with her."

His quartermaster seemed ready to object, thought better of it, and nodded with a solemn "Aye."

"Fighting like a devil, dressed like a man," Ed Teach once said, "I've seen him clear the deck of a Spanish galleon like it was nothing." Those who never witnessed Captain Edward Kenway in action may dismiss it as hyperbole, but Adè knew better.

He dove into liquid ice –okay, all water is liquid ice but this was _fucking_ cold- and took a moment to gather his bearings. The muffled, distant rumble of cannon fire rippled the water above him. Blooms of red and gold light shone through the murk, but aside from that, Captain Kenway was completely blind.

Why was this a good idea, again?

Edward made a few strokes in the general direction of the enemy vessel, frustrated and disoriented, before he remembered his second sight. He swam more surely to the large, silvery shape in the darkness. Faint dots of red shone through, marking the locations of the crewmen he would kill.

* * *

Neha jolted at the sound. It the same distant thunder that marooned her on this godforsaken plank with a bunch of godforsaken pirates: cannon fire.

Perhaps the same sound would mark her return to freedom. This realization was followed closely by the fact that she was in the Captain's cabin, that if the other side won and discovered her there, unharmed and unbound, they would assume-

"I am _not_ his whore," she hissed, rubbing furiously at her injured thumb.

There wasn't a chance in hell that a bunch of scurvy pirates could stand against an actual Naval vessel with a disciplined, professional crew. Perhaps, if the other side thought her a helpless prisoner (which was true, painful as it was to admit) they would be inclined to help her upon their inevitable victory. Neha sprung to her feet with renewed vigor, anger and humiliation eclipsed by the prospect of freedom. Searched the room for a weapon (a pointless gesture because if it came to a real fight, well, she was _fucked_) found a spyglass, which she retracted and peered through. Was distracted by the appearance of various objects in Kenway's cabin in distorted detail for a good five minutes before another explosion startled her back to the present.

"Something sharp," she mused, running a finger over the edge of the golden cylinder. Maybe at the right angle…? Neha gave the cabin a last cursory glance, found nothing of use, shrugged and adjusted her grip on the spyglass, wincing slightly at the pain in her thumb. It was solid, heavy, and easily hidden in the folds of the poofy blue dress. Better than nothing.

Her trembling fingers hesitated at the doorknob. Maybe…

"Stay here."

The words echoed as if he stood inches behind, whispering in her ear. Smug, wicked, condescending _bastard_, ordering her about like she was a fucking _dog_.

"Stay here lass, Jaysus!" She mocked Kenway in an exaggerated, gruff voice before returning to her normal tone, "Fuck you Kenway. Yeah, I'll _fucking_ stay here."

Neha threw open the door furiously, burning with rebellious impulse.

Outside, the same chaos as that fateful afternoon took place in the dark, by the silver light of the setting crescent moon. Neha pressed back against the wall outside the captain's cabin, inching towards the door to the lower decks, keeping to the shadows. Passed a few barrels and decided against it; no more leaving things to chance. She was going to the brig, putting on her best damsel in distress act (which, again, would not be much of an act, as she was very much a damsel in distress) and would leave no room for the other side to question her allegiance upon their inevitable victory.

They didn't see her, but she saw them. Locked in battle, the sharp sting of steel on steel piercing the air. There was the cook –the man without a nose- taking advantage of his opponent's shock at seeing the gaping hole in the middle of his face by impaling him in one swift, fluid moment. Another pair of men, faces indistinguishable by the dull moonlight, matched each other blow for blow, more than twenty times in a row before the larger one made a fatal mistake.

Neha put the spyglass to her eye without thinking. Blood, ink, and water all looked the same in the dark. The puddle growing around a face-down corpse reflected the night sky with the clarity of a mirror. She watched, captivated by the pain, gore and violence, forgetting her plan entirely.

There was the cook's mate, the only pirate she may ever call "friend," who slipped her a bottle of rum to ease her sorrows. Shy, sweet, innocent Onur was apparently as good with a cutlass as he was at making stew. Actually, it was a pair of cutlasses, used to fend off no less than three men simultaneously. Neha watched with bated breath three was reduced to two, then only one, who had the good sense to throw himself overboard instead of joining his friends in the afterlife.

A dark shape caught her attention. Neha focused on a black-hooded figure aboard the other ship.

The shadow man unsheathed a pair of his own cutlasses, skewering two recklessly charging fools. Ducked a jab from a third man who approached from behind. How- with the hood hindering his peripheral vision and- did he have eyes on the back of his _head_?

The hooded man released the swords, still embedded in the men (now corpses) swivilled with impossible speed, and thrust his hand at the fourth attacker's throat. Neha caught the steely glint of a blade before he retracted his hand and dug his elbow into –where the hell did _that one_ come from?

No matter.

The poor bastard was just as dead as the rest.

It occurred to Neha, quite belatedly, that the outfit of this incredible predator matched that of Kenway. Focusing the spyglass on the hooded man's face, she caught a hint of flaxen thread flowing in the wind. Blinked, and realized that it was hair. Blonde hair.

But-

She lowered the spyglass in a moment of pure horrified shock, raised it just as quickly in time to see Kenway shoot one man in the face and slit the throat of another, _simultaneously_.

"How many men have I killed?" he mused, the odd -but sweet- lilt in his English accent exaggerated by alcohol.

Neha guessed, guessed higher, missed the mark time and again until he stopped her with a good natured chuckle.

"I lost count years ago, lass, though it may be about the same as the number of whores I fucked."

He waggled his eyebrows with a ridiculous leer.

She laughed, at his intentionally humorous expression and because the claim seemed impossible. "I don't believe you."

The man took a long swig, wiped the rum that dribbled from his mouth with his sleeve, and flashed a grin so bright, her heart might have skipped a bit. "I don't believe it myself, most nights."

That was an eternity ago, before she found out he was a _pirate_, before he made her a prisoner on his _pirate_ ship, and revealed himself to be a total ass. Gods- she even half-regretted not fucking him that night!

Neha shook her head to clear the memory.

"Focus," she murmured, disoriented and a little numb.

She reached the door to the lower decks completely unnoticed. Passed a man with the hilt of something protruding from his chest. Paused, debated, then crouched and pulled the dagger from the body with some effort. Admired the glittering black blood on the blade, shifted the spyglass to her other hand, and concealed the new weapon in her voluminous skirt.

"Gods, don't make me use this," she prayed. The steel made her feel more secure, but with a sore (sprained?) thumb, laughably weak arms, and near-total lack of coordination, Neha didn't know if even a _gun_ would made a difference in a fight.

Still, it was all going very well; she had her hand on the doorknob, felt safety and freedom at her fingertips -_just a little further_- before everything promptly went to shit.

_"Hey, you!"_ A voice barked in Portuguese.

She checked behind her shoulder and found only wood.

_"Yes, you. The wench in the dress. What do you think you're doing_?"

_"I was just_-"

_"Ah, I see the captain found himself a quite pretty whore."_

It had the cadence of a compliment, but Neha was (shockingly) not flattered.

_"No sir, please, you're mistaken. I am a prisoner being held against my will."_

Her attempt at sounding helpless was marred by the irritation tinging the words.

The man was well past listening anyway. His pale, fish-like eyes raked over her body, tracing the slit she cut in the skirt and lingering where the sleeves slid from her shoulders before meeting her gaze with an oily grin.

Of course. Leave it to a _man_ to have rape on his mind in the midst of a goddamn _battle_. She didn't know whether to roll her eyes or scream. Dubious that either of those things would do much good, Neha tightened her grip the dagger.

_He_ told her to always aim for the gut. It was a larger target than the head, and rarely as well-protected. "Pierce the entails, and he's a dead man. No way to live with your own shit oozing into your blood."

And yet, the bastard never showed her how to make a fist.

Pulse thudding in her ears, thumb vaguely throbbing and –she tested- swollen, hands shaking, thoughts racing. Would it be better to run, and risk the attention of even more men, or a stray bullet? What if he wore armor under that uniform? Would she be able to push through?

What about the code?

To _hell_ with that, she decided. They were more guidelines, anyway. To help her stay alive, not wind up dead.

All the while, the Portuguese sailor stalked towards her with a look in his eye that made her sick to her stomach. Neha stood with her back against the wall. Spotted a flash of steel as he drew his sword, grew even sicker with pure terror, but braced herself.

"Say, what is it you have behind your back?"

Oh, _fuck_. No, wait. She wasn't fucked. Not yet.

"_Just this_," Neha said sweetly, holding out the brass cylinder.

The cur let out a bark of cruel laughter, took a step closer and snatched it from her outstretched hand. "_What would a _prisoner_ be doing with _this_, little liar-whore?_"

It was an effort to keep her mouth shut, but Neha managed by gnashing her teeth together so hard, her jaw cracked.

Another step.

Just a little closer.

He paused and scowled.

"_And what's in the other hand?_"

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Don't play dumb with me, slut!_"

She saw the man's sword-hand twitch menacingly, decided he was close enough, realized she would die no matter what and it was better to go down with a fight.

"_Come closer and let me show you_," she said, voice dipping with (false) flirtation.

This threw him off for a second; a second was all she needed. For the second time in the span of an hour, Neha launched herself at a man –a bigger, stronger, more experienced opponent- with every iota of strength in her body. Vaguely registered a sharp sting and a rush of warmth on her left arm, but the pain only made her push harder.

All the way to the hilt, and then some.

The man stood still for a moment. Stumbled back, expression dazed. Glanced down at his blood-soaked torso, shook his head, blinked, and crumpled to his knees. Looked up, his watery fish-eyes, devoid of menace or accusation and gasped, "_Tell her. Tell her, please. I am- she must know_."

Before she could ask, he collapsed facedown, dead at her feet.

Neha turned on her heels. How she was still standing- and why was the dress wet? There was still a while until that time of the month. Besides, the blood was on the outside, dripping from- her arm. The sting. His sword.

The moon- the world- was shimmering with fairy dust, covered by a film of grey. She could swear the sun was rising in the east, pinking the horizon, but everything was dark and dim and getting… Fading into black splotches, which spread like ink spilled on parchment until she was blind, with her back on something hard. Sitting down now, feeling the swing rock her to sleep. Her clothes were soaked by the rain. Mother would be angry, but she could deal with that tomorrow.

She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

* * *

A/N: "_Nee notilo kukka yeraga!_": May a dog shit in your mouth. (Ha!)

If the story doesn't update on Friday like it usually does, check my profile. I'll have an explanation/estimated time of arrival posted. This one's up earlier than I said, though.

Does this count as an action scene? (I mean, I tried but...) Also, did anyone catch the Pirates reference (again)?

The Portuguese is in italics because in Neha's POV, she understands what's being said, not because I'm lazy.

If anyone's interested, I drew (okay, TRIED to draw) Neha despite being a shit artist. Link to the picture is also on my profile, in case anyone's curious. Okay, that's all.


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